Coffee Shop
by Pacificsun
Summary: /AU/LightxL/ He drank bitter, black coffee. He drank tea with a gelatinous glob of sugar floating in it. He was the photographer. He was the model. And it all fell back on a quiet little coffee shop.
1. Photo

It was not a lively coffee shop.

No, it was not at all. In fact for the most part it was rather empty. One would wonder how it would stay in business, being one of those shops that always seemed quiet and yet it never went out of business. The kind of coffee shop you peered into just once maybe drove past, noting to yourself that it looked cute. But the notion was lost in the jumble of day-to-day life. There was nothing particularly wrong with the little shop, per say, it wasn't dirty, the coffee wasn't particularly bitter, and the pastries weren't all that bad. Maybe it was the fact that most everyone drove past it once, smiling a little and making one small promise that they would go back. However the shop waited and waited, the promise never fulfilled.

There could only be a small group of people that could be identified as regulars. Even these were mostly stuffy old men that entered for their morning coffee crossing back out over the welcome mat just as soon as they had trod upon it to enter. However, every day at a precise time a man would enter. He was unlike the regular faceless folk that ambled in. He was young and handsome, always sporting a shirt, occasionally with a tie, occasionally not. You could tell by the way he walked and the way he spoke he took great pride in his appearance. And to the casual observer, he deserved every ounce of vanity he hid so well, for he was indeed a striking man.

So he entered this coffee shop. He ordered the same thing, and sat down to stare pensively out into nothingness, occasionally breaking his statue-like manner in order to take a sip of his steaming beverage. Always a decaf coffee, always black, and he always seated himself at the same rickety table on the same wobbling stool. How this schedule arose, the bland girl whom worked at the shop wondered, could not be determined. Only that he pushed through the doorway each and every day, the bells dangling upon the entryway jingling to signal his gallant entrance. Then he ordered his bitter liquid and complacently sat until he was done.

One thing he always had with him was a bag slung over his shoulder. The contents of this bag were unknown, as it always stayed firmly shut as he went through his daily ritual of sipping coffee at the lonely little coffee shop. It was until one particular Tuesday that he removed something from the mysterious container. The bag seemed a vital part of his person and yet never once was touched, until now. Clever fingers pulled out a camera. It was a high-end kind of camera, heavy and top of the line. The girl at the counter raised an eyebrow, but went back to flipping through her magazine. He fiddled with it, eyebrows knitting together in mute puzzlement as he fingered the intricate piece of technology. He held the camera to a brown eye, taking an experimental view at the atmosphere about him. He paused, letting the camera lower, revealing his blank face. He gently placed the camera back in the bag.

He left with his coffee still half full.

-o-

The street was nearly lively, close to thriving but not quite there. On the brink of busy but falling short of bustling. Light enjoyed it when it was like this. There was an atmosphere, a feeling, but it was not so crowded that this feeling was lost in throngs of people. It hung in the air like the thick, rich smell of a nearby bakery. Or the wafting odor of cigarette smoke, making the lungs tingle but not so potent it stung.

It was perfect.

And yet as Light Yagami took a seat upon the edge of a water fountain, he could find no inspiration. His senses hummed insistently with energy but his brain promptly hit a dull, deadened stop. Pursing his lips, Light withdrew the camera from his knapsack, weighing the object in his deft hands. It felt like a led weight upon his palms, becoming a cold, unfeeling machine as his inspiration dwindled to a pathetically low level. Utilizing his peripherals, he caught sight of an obese old man sitting on a bench in the shade, a woman in her mid-twenties with a young daughter in tow, a group of teenage girls huddled together in a small semi-circle, and a man lighting up a smoke as leaned against a thin, miserable tree that looked oddly out of place in the world of concrete adjacent to it.

Raising the camera to a brown eye, the lens keenly locked upon the quirky, everyday populous that lined the streets. Light was paying a small amount of attention to what his lens had fixated upon; he snapped photographs in a rhythmic fashion, implementing little mental effort as he clicked the button marked "TAKE PHOTO."

i_Click, click, click_./i

-o-

Light's mouth too the shape of a gaping hole, jaw hanging slightly loose from its hinges as he glanced at the glowing monitor. After his daily excursion, he had decided to sift through the pictures he had taken. Most of it had been mediocre, shots that had been taken in rapid succession, and this had showed in the quality. But there was one…one single shot that now claimed the entirety of the screen. Light had blown it up to get a better look.

There was a man sitting on a park bench, half of him bathed in sunlight and the other covered by the sparse, dotted shade of the trees. Like little holes had been punched in the shadows for the light to glance cunningly through. His hair was a dark nest that sat atop his head in a great, black, knotted mass. Unruly pieces hung down, haphazardly lying across his pallid face. Wide, bulging eyes glared out, one in the light and the other in the dark. His pose was anything but usual, knees drawn across his chest and toes peering over the edge of the park bench. A pair of ratty old sneakers were strewn with little affection at his feet.

The shot was…stunning. And Light caught himself wondering how he hadn't taken any real notice of such a striking and distinctive subject.

Light needed to shoot him again.

iHe/i was perfect.

-o-

Light glanced over his shoulder as he walked slowly through the streets. The camera hung around his neck by a black band, swaying lightly with each step. It was more crowded, Fridays always tended to be the busier of the days. There were several families, men strolling with hands in their pockets, a group of average adolescents, and a man that looked conspicuously shabby as he leaned against the wall of a building. There was no sight of a the man.

"Damn it…" Light murmured, twisting and turning fluidly through the diverse crowd. It was at that moment that Light caught sight of something. He saw that familiar mass of black. With his eyes locked onto his target, Light pushed more urgently through the sea of white, black, and everything in between. There were several offended cries as Light pushed through a little harder than necessary. Finally he caught up to the figure with the nest of black hair. His outfit was slightly different…baggy jeans and what looked like a sweat shirt. At least that was what Light could tell from his view. All he could see was his back.

A hand clamped down upon the shoulder of the black-haired youth. Light waited anxiously.

However instead of the pale-faced enigmatic-looking man, he saw a sallow youth with his face pierced in several places. No, no…the man's face had not been marred by metal, he was alabaster and untouched.

"Uh…Who're you?" the boy asked, his shoulder stiffening, his gaze puzzled.

It took Light a moment to come back to reality and snatch back his hand. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," he replied tersely, his tone very frustrated.

"Whatever," the kid said, eyeing him apprehensively.

Turning around, Light's feet trodden heavily upon the concrete. He was genuinely disappointed, and angrier than anything that it hadn't been that mysterious man he had captured upon film.

-o-

In the weeks that followed, chances of catching sight of the ever-elusive man seemed slim. Light's frustration became nearly palpable. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, strings of baffling occurrences coming in constant flow. Small flashes of his face, his hair, and his clothes slipped conspicuously across Light's peripherals, only to disappear a moment later, almost as if it were mocking him. Several times he had approached an unwitting stranger, finding just moments later that it had been someone else entirely. Light had grown resentful of his constant failure to find the man. Perhaps he had moved on, taken an airplane to a different country, moved to a different town, or was merely even utilizing a different street. The possibilities were limitless, and once more he became a face lost in the crowd of billions.

Light pushed the door in violently, the bells jangling out a manic sound of entry, His voice was evidently moody, and his countenance was irritable. The slouching girl at the counter jumped with his loud arrival, and went to make his usual, almost fearful of his wrath. He paid little attention to his surroundings as he sat in his usual chair, which rocked uneasily as a greeting. The legs of the stool screeched as he yanked it forward. The girl hurried from behind the counter, carefully toting a steaming cup of coffee.

"Your coffee, sir," she said politely, a hint of puzzlement in her tone. He took it wordlessly. With a slightly offended look at his silence, the girl trod back to her place behind the counter, shooting Light another quizzical glare.

Light breathed, watching the smoke billow up and disappear. It was easy to see how things disappeared, how people disappeared…Light's eyes halted.

In the corner of the little coffee shop was the man, sitting with his feet drawn across his chest. In one hand, he delicately clutched a fork. Upon the utensil sat a very generous piece of cake which hovered inches from his open, and awaiting mouth.

"You," Light said loudly, feeling his nerves tingle with a sense of triumph, though it was pure chance he had once more stumbled upon the man.

This statement caused the pale man to jump, the piece of cake tumbling from his silverware and landing upon the groin of his jeans. Bug-like black eyes glanced with much solemnity at the fallen cake, then up to the young male who had addressed him so clearly.

"I believe," he said, his voice filled with remorse, "that you have caused me to drop my cake."

Light had quickly moved from his table, leaving the coffee behind. "Sorry," he said brusquely, it was clear he hadn't nearly as much regret for the wasted morsel. "I'm Light Yagami," Light stated, moving to shake the man's hand.

"Yes, you are Light Yagami," the man observed dryly, watching the hand with little interest. The polite smile faltered upon Light's face but did not fall away entirely. His hand dropped to his side. "I've seen you around before."

The man dug his fork into the generous slice of cake before him. "You haff?" he asked, his mouth slightly full. Small bits of crumbs fell from his lips. Light pursed his lips. It was almost as if he was finding every way he could to irritate the man who had just claimed the seat across from him. "I'm afraid I haven't seen you."

Light frowned. "I happened to take a picture of you."

"Oh," he replied simply, looking rather cross-eyed as he stared down at the quickly-disappearing confection.

"I was wondering," Light said, now becoming quite irate, "if I could have your name and I could take a few more photos of you."

"I must decline," the man replied, "I've been very busy lately."

"Busy?" Light asked incredulously, staring down as he continued to eat his cake.

"Terribly," the man replied through a mouthful of food. Light hid his scoff. "And you may call me…" he paused, as though he was going through something in his head. "…Ryuuzaki."

"Well, Ryuuzaki, I would make it worth your while."

"Hm…I'm afraid I don't swing that way, Mr. Yagami," Ryuuzaki proffered after a moment. Light's cheeks reddened.

"I meant money."

"Oh," Ryuuzaki uttered that single exasperating syllable, sounding innocent, as though it was a simple misinterpretation. "Forgive me, I'm a bit dull." But something about him told Light that he was the polar opposite of that.

"No problem," Light said, "but there is something interesting about your face and your mannerisms and your dress…you still have cake on…" he inclined his head.

"Ah, thank you for reminding me." Light watched in horror as he used the fork to scrape it from his denim trousers. His etiquette, which Light had previously found interesting, was now nearly appalling. Once the novelty of it had worn off, Light could only ponder where he had learned it from.

It was then that Ryuuzaki got up from his crouching position and moved into an equally peculiar stance. His back was hunched as though his spine had been curved. His ratty old sneakers dragged their weary laces along as he trudged out, leaving Light in his wake, trying to digest the brief meeting. And as Ryuuzaki's back was to Light, the youth drew out his camera and quickly began to snap shots. There was something completely bothersome about him, something about him that prodded the wrong thing in Light. But the young photographer was completely besotted with his pictures.

-o-

Over the weeks that followed, Ryuuzaki had shown to the little coffee shop several times. Sometimes Light would dare approach him, only to have all of his comments replied to with something so furtively witty, it would take a genius to detect all the connotations. He hardly got farther than that, and Light's offer for taking pictures in a more private and chosen setting had not been met. Only the constant murder of all his sly attempts to get the man to comply.

After a while, Light had resorted to buying Ryuuzaki baked goods, and the photographer had discovered that the man had quite the sweet tooth. Even this bribery could not sway Ryuuzaki. Light wondered how much more income the shop was accumulating now just from his exorbitant spending. From cakes to cookies, tea to smoothies, brownies to cupcakes. He had bought just about every sweet on the face of the planet for Ryuuzaki, and the man still hadn't moved from his resolve.

The only thing it did was encourage Ryuuzaki to come everyday. He couldn't resist the temptation of being treated to different sugary concoctions. This could only further Light's growing impatience. How much more would he have to push to get what he wanted? Just one photo shoot…for all this trouble, just one would sate him. But the bastard refused him at every turn.

"Why do you come here every day" Ryuuzaki had asked one day, picking up a chocolate-dipped cherry by its stem, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, "when you know as well as I do that I will not waver for you?"

Light paused, glancing through the plumes of steam from his coffee. Black, bitter as always. "Because, you will eventually."

"The world does not always bend your way, Light Yagami."

"I didn't say that," Light said, tapping his finger upon the table.

"Yes, you did," Ryuuzaki argued. Light sighed, but did not argue further. It was impossible when the man across from his was as obstinate as a small child, stubborn as anything.

"I don't need to explain myself to you."

"Then the photos aren't very important," Ryuuzaki countered. Light gritted his teeth.

"What, are you giving me a psychoanalysis?" Light asked this statement filled with cold humor. Ryuuzaki placed his thumb to his lips and replied matter-of-factly.

"Yes."

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Light repeated curtly.

Ryuuzaki slid the cherry stem between his lips and into his cavernous mouth. "I was just curious why you insist on seeing my everyday. You're not unintelligent, just foolish and arrogant—" Light's frown deepened at this "—it makes no sense for you to continue to meet me here everyday, when you know the answer doesn't change. There's no logic, no deductions in that."

"I was here first," Light said pompously, once more dodging the question. He got to his feet, snatching up his leather jacket and throwing crumpled bills onto the table to cover the bill. Ryuuzaki watched him with orbicular black eyes, drawing out the knotted cherry stem from his mouth, and placing it upon the table

There honestly was no logic to it. And Light stormed out, because he hated the answer.


	2. Dinner

Dinner at the Yagami house could be described as…tense. There was an uncomfortable air as the three dined in silence. Soichiro had been absent, once more tied up with work. His mother poked at her rice with a sullen look, she seemed tired. It wasn't surprising. She was staying up nearly every night, waiting for the moment when Soichiro would stumble tiredly through the door. It had been days, nearly a week. He still hadn't shown. And it was no surprise that she could only feel sinking melancholy for her absent husband, waiting and wondering if one day she would receive a call saying he had been killed, and he would not come home anymore.

"What case is Dad working on?" Sayu piped up, trying to start conversation. Light knew her cheery tone was completely staged.

"Oh, I don't know…" Sachiko replied. "I think they're trying to find a…" she poked her rice once more, searching her weary mind.

"A serial killer," Light replied, "that has reportedly killed over ninety women." The photographer scowled with disgust, staring down into his reflection in a cup of tea. He despised such scum. Adjusting in his seat, he watched the tea ripple in response to his movement. "Could you pass the sugar, Sayu?"

"Sugar?" Sayu asked in an incredulous manner. "You like sugar in your tea?"

Light gave a thoughtful pause. "Not usually," he finally said. Sayu cast him another look of incredulity, and went to hand him the sugar. Light accepted it and the silent meal went on with the muteness suffocating the atmosphere.

"So what have you been up to, Light?" Sachiko asked courteously, crinkling her face into a smile. The many lines carved into her skin creased with the expression.

_Oh, nothing really, just been spending every morning with a __**freak**__ in the hopes of getting to take some damned pictures of him. Then financing the same man's terrible eating habits, conversing with him daily, and even adopting some of his unsightly mannerisms. _

Light dropped a spoonful of sugar into his tea. "Nothing that notable." This statement was greeted with a ponderous gaze.

"I see. How have you been doing in school, Sayu?"

And Sayu began to prattle on about how she was having trouble with Calculus, but she was acing History and Literature. Then it jumped from that to sports, then eventually to boys. She spoke with whimsy, a slight bit of longing, and perhaps a tint of embarrassment. With each sentence she smiled, flicking back her long, dark hair with a quick flourish of her hand. Sachiko smiled along with her, nodding and remembering her own High School years. Light focused upon his dinner, not really caring for the conversation.

"Met any nice girls, Light?" Sayu cooed segueing from school-life to her silent brother that brooded over his steamed vegetables.

"Sayu!" Sachiko sounded hardly angry but was trying to be courteous to her son.

_No, only strange men that I want to take photos of. _

"No one, yet," Light replied, stirring his tea and moving to take a sip.

"I thought you'd have better luck, you used to have a date every night in High School," Sayu said thoughtfully. Light gagged, not due to the statement, but from the sugar he had put into his tea. Smacking his lips, Light put down the mug and noted to himself that he was not a fan of sugar. Sayu giggled.

-o-

"Care for a bite?" Ryuuzaki asked. Light glanced at the pastry.

"No."

"What a shame," Ryuuzaki took another bite. He didn't sound upset in the least. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Excuse me?" Light asked, glancing up.

Ryuuzaki stared blankly at Light. Light stared back, quirking an eyebrow. "You heard me," Ryuuzaki said calmly. "If you insist on bribing me everyday, then a simple question can't bother you."

The two starkly different men eyed each other. "Does it really matter that much to you?" Light asked, tapping his finger incessantly upon the wood of the table, letting his eyes wander across the coffee shop that he already knew every crevice of. Anything but meeting his dark, obtrusive gaze.

"Yes."

"Fine," Light snapped, pushing aside his coffee aside with sudden fervor. He cursed as some of it slopped over the edge and onto his hand as well as his finely tailored sport coat. Mopping his sleeve with a napkin, the young man began, still avoiding the sharp eyes of the man across from him. "Because I've been bored, because everything is so _mundane, _all my subjects are so _uninteresting._ A man smoking on the sidewalk is only a novelty for so long. A homeless man loitering in front of a library can only capture so much interest. Two lovers looking out over a lake just gets damn old. But you were such a contrast…such a…" Light mulled over a synonym for 'freak' in his head.

"Freak?" Ryuuzaki suggested, his spoon clinking against the inside of his cup. Light froze, but quickly shook off the idiotic notion that he could read minds.

"Put into harsher terms, yes. Just the oddness of you…it was fascinating. I was entranced with your face, your hair, your baggy clothes, the way you sat…such a deviation from the norm. I thought maybe you would be something worthwhile. But you've only proved to be infuriating."

"Simply because I don't comply with your wishes," Ryuuzaki said slowly, continuing to tap his spoon against the inside of his china cup.

_Clink. Clink. _

Light gave him a withering look. "Because you waste my time with banter."

"Then why do you continue to show?"

"You're the only one worth bantering with."

"I see."

Silence.

"Are you going to let me take pictures of you?" Light changed his slightly loathing stare into an earnest, imploring one.

"Hm…" Ryuuzaki glanced up. "No, I believe I'll pass."

"I can't stand you," Light said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"I wasn't aware." Was that a hint of sarcasm in Ryuuzaki's voice? It had to be.

"No of course you weren't," Light said coldly, taking a swig of his coffee. "You're not as dull as you claim."

"And you're not nearly as dull as you look."

Light scowled. He finally dared to stare straight back into those onyx pools. In them he saw swirling darkness, the mystery, but also a certain keenness. Something sharp and piercing, something that told you he had seen more in his lifetime that any man should. Something that seemed wrong, off-kilter even. Light tried to harness adjectives in his mind to pin down this man's eyes, which were convoluted windows to his convoluted soul. He could find nothing, just the blankness that hardened like impassive guards. He was hiding something.

"You're not from Japan, are you?" Light quickly changed the subject, crossing and uncrossing his arms periodically. The man obviously looked mixed, he couldn't be purely Japanese.

"Not originally," Ryuuzaki replied vaguely.

Light stared flatly back. He must have taken the hint. Light wanted a little more information than just that his name was Ryuuzaki, he had an overgrown sweet-tooth, and he sat with his legs pulled against his chest. He must have taken the hint, but he ignored it completely. He was hiding something, he had to be.

"What do you…do, exactly?"

"A great number of things."

Light felt like he was running into the same wall over and over again, hoping that with each painful failure it would bring him closer to cracking the impervious barrier. Only it never cracked in the slightest, and all he received for his strenuous efforts was massive head trauma. Ryuuzaki finally spoke up after sucking down the last of his tea. "And what do you do when you're not hunting down people…or taking pictures of men smoking on the sidewalk? You weren't schooled for photography."

Light paused. "How do you know that?" His tone was thick and guarded.

"Just instinct."

"I attended college for law," Light finally answered.

"Oh? And if you have a degree then why are you wasting your time here?" Now Ryuuzaki looked genuinely more interested with the mention of law.

Light cast him a suspicious stare. "That's none of your concern." Now genuine anger was starting to grow in Light's voice. Ryuuzaki was approaching a very touchy subject, the heated aura about Light could account for that.

"Forgive me for digging up such turmoil."

"There is no turmoil," Light's voice was deadly.

"There isn't?"

"No! There is NOT!" Light shouted angrily, getting up from the table and snatching up his jacket. The table began to rock dangerously. Light's coffee quickly tipped over, spilling across the table. Ryuuzaki watched the photographer storm out, barely aware of the girl that had rushed from behind the counter with a cloth in hand.

"I'm so sorry!" she said as Ryuuzaki got to his feet. She was scrubbing away at the table madly. "I've never seen him get like that…" she confided in a small voice.

"It's alright," he said, though his voice was clearly elsewhere, his eyes were far away. The cogs in his astute mind were spinning.

-o-

Dinner at the Yagami house was slowly becoming a tortuous experience. Every night there would be three occupants at the table. And every night there would be the same conversation. It was as if every supper had been scripted in advance, and everyone was playing their part appropriately. Light sat quietly, occasionally making a remark here or there. Sayu consumed the majority of the talking with her long-winded speeches, which were fashioned only to fill up the silence. His mother acted as the polite and interested questioner, trying to keep a constant flow of words.

Light was counting how many times Sayu had talked about her nasty Calculus teacher…she was up to six now.

_Click. _

The small click of the lock on the door could be heard. Then the sound of it swinging forward, followed by footsteps. Sayu jumped to her feet without bothering to ask if she could be excused. Instead she made a beeline straight for the door. "Daddy!" she shouted euphorically, reverting to childish terminology. Sachiko rose to her feet as well, clasping her hands together and giving a small, relieved smile.

Soichiro Yagami could be described in one word. Tired. He looked as though the past weeks had sped his aging years into the future. His usually neat hair was unruly, with grey strands hanging across his sallow forehead. Small bags held their place beneath his exhausted eyes. He was frowning deeply, his eyelids drooping. He managed to procure a small, slightly pathetic smile for his daughter—who had thrown her arms about his waist— and proceeded to pet her hair, assuring her how much he had missed her. Once he had detached himself from Sayu, Soichiro moved to his wife. He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. He seemed too groggy to be able to do much else. After grumbling several apologies for being absent so long, he turned to his son.

"Light," he said, giving a strained smile.

"Hi, Dad," Light replied, still sitting at the table, chopsticks in his hands. He had not gotten up to greet his father as the others had. "How is the case going?" Light was curious, he had wanted very much to divulge into this case…but he couldn't investigate on his own. He lacked the technology and the resources…and it wasn't as if he could get a job at the NPA. Not after…

"_There isn't?"  
_

"No turmoil…" Light grumbled under his breath, brushing off the thought with urgency.

"Hm?" Soichiro asked, leaning forward.

"Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud." Light offered a winning smile.

"The case isn't going very well…" Soichiro's face screwed up, trying to in vain to keep himself alert.

"You must be exhausted," Sachiko finally said, putting an arm around the shoulder of her husband. "Go get some rest, honey."

"Thank you," Soichiro replied, it was obvious he was very grateful for the prospect of a proper bed. And once Soichiro trekked upstairs, the scripted, tortuous, awkward dinner commenced. Only Light had something on his mind now…something that drowned out the mention of that infamous, nasty Calculus teacher. One words floated across Light's thoughts.

_Redemption._

His intelligence outmatched the majority of the NPA, he was sharp and logically minded, and he was capable as anything. He would not be swept to the side any more for a decision he had made—one which he did not regret in the least—at the beginning of his career. He was going to solve the case.


	3. Survivor

The papers were so aptly calling it the "_Casanova Murders". _They were horrifying, gruesome killings that traveled back years into the past. The newspaper detailed that with each slaughter, the murderer had tried something new. Dismemberment, raping the corpse, carving sweet nothings upon the body (which read things like _"love" _and _"darling"_), and even painting things with the blood of his victims, which usually took the shape of a flower, more specifically a rose.

It was clear that the murderer was male with a death wish for all women, perhaps even a scorned lover that had sunk down into insanity. There was only one thing that stayed constant at all of the crime scenes, something that marked the murders as his doing. There was always a heart carved upon the side of the neck. Of course the magazines articles and newspapers had added a more than a little amount of fluff to the details. Since it was such a harrowing occurrence, and due to the fact this man was still at large, it drew quite an audience.

It had the front page on every woman's magazine, and of course, sales were up higher than ever. Human nature: (Light nearly scoffed) they became duly more interested the more grisly and macabre things appeared. The murder weapons ranged from guns to knives to even a broken bottle, only the heart was the constant. The odd range of murders made it hard to pin down what this man was exactly after. The age range was massive, women from the age of fourteen to fifty had been killed; it seemed almost random except for the fact that they were female.

However this man couldn't have just been leaving clues without a reason behind them. It made no sense for him to put all those details, those little flashes of insight to the crime, without having a pertinent reason for doing so. Random acts of violence were rare, hardly anything was random.

"What are you reading?"

Light peered up from over the top of his magazine, his musings interrupted by the man across from him. No matter, he couldn't really surmise anything concrete from a small, slightly vague, newspaper article. The police were obviously filtering what information got through to the media, and they had good reason to. A lot of the more specific details had been kept secret, the names of the female victims for instance. It only stated _"over ninety women have been slain by the elusive killer that has managed to evade police for years."_

"About the Casanova Killings…"

"Oh?" Ryuuzaki asked, bringing a chocolate-covered strawberry to his lips. He chewed it noisily. "Haff you found anyfing…clues maybe?" The speech impediment was due to the fact that he had placed another strawberry into his cavernous mouth. Light glanced away with apparent distaste as Ryuuzaki continued to chew.

"No, these articles are frustratingly uninformative."

"Might I suggest a bit of detective work?"

Light frowned. "I would need a license to become a private investigator."

"Not necessarily," Ryuuzaki replied, taking noisy slurp of his tea to wash down the strawberries. The young photographer gave him a stony look.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I was suggesting nothing, simply stating a fact."

The two eyed each other. Light blinked and looked away, finally deciding that he couldn't keep his eyes open nearly as long as his pale-skinned counterpart across the table. Besides, he had no interest in Ryuuzaki watching his eyes water. "If a license truly means that much to you, then apply for one," Ryuuzaki finally said, pushing aside his finished tea.

"…I'd rather not," Light replied dismissively with a wave of his hand.

"And why would that be?"

"No reason." The reply was curt and concise, teetering upon the edge of enmity. Ryuuzaki offered up another thoughtful gaze, studying Light. The brunette's expression was one of forced relaxation, as though he trying much too hard to be apathetic and aloof on the subject.

"You seem as though you'd have an aptitude for that kind of career," Ryuuzaki said, sounding almost defensive. "It was merely a suggestion."

"And what makes you assume that?" Light retorted quickly.

The two gave each other deadpanned stares once more.

"Just instinct," Ryuuzaki's voice was light for some reason. "Hm…I could really go for some of that cheesecake…" his orbicular eyes swerved over to a small cake that sat upon a serving platter on the front counter. It did look appetizing. The girl that held her usual place at the counter—once she heard this—closed her magazine with a snap and went to take the glass cover off the dish. Light gave an exasperated sigh and took out his brown leather wallet.

"Thank you," Ryuuzaki said his eyes fixated upon the generous slice that the girl carried over towards to the two.

"Don't mention it," Light replied thickly.

"Would you also like a piece, sir?" the girl questioned as he handed her several neatly folded bills. "Anything you want?"

"No."

"…Any more coffee?" she leaned over the small Styrofoam cup that was now empty.

"No," Light repeated impatiently. The girl looked slightly offended as she strode back to her place behind the counter.

Ryuuzaki started to eagerly devour his cheesecake as Light drew back up the newspaper so he wouldn't have to watch the horrid eating habits of Ryuuzaki. He tried to immerse himself back into the article, but his growing sense of vexation was beginning to get through to him. So he held up the newspaper in front of his face and pretended as though he was reading.

-o-

Light's eyes flicked from the computer screen to the clock. Then back to the computer screen and right back to the clock again. It was 2:42 A.M. and sleep was escaping him. So instead he had tried to compile some research on the Casanova murders. The first and easiest resource was the internet, so he had begun to use every search engine he could find, utilizing a colorful array of keywords to try and find some reliable and helpful information. Naturally most of it had been useless, exaggeration and rumors without any merit. After a good two hours of finding nothing Light had finally slammed the keyboard in aggravation.

His bloodshot and tired eyes glanced at the blinking cursor.

Then he found himself doing something he had not planned. His fingers went to keys, and into the keyword box he typed in '_Ryuuzaki'_. Hitting the enter button a little harder than necessary, he waited with some skepticism for the results of the search. Unfortunately the results were too vast to find anything upon the Ryuuzaki he knew. So he typed in _'Ryuuzaki'_ followed by _'sweet-tooth'._ There was nothing of significance.

'_Ryuuzaki coffee shop'_

'_Ryuuzaki Kanto region of Japan'_

'_Ryuuzaki sitting odd'_

All of his results had shown nothing. Reflecting on the conversations they had had in the past, Light tried to think of something that would relevant to the name 'Ryuuzaki'. Well…he had taken a special interest once Light had mentioned law. And he had given a hint that a license for becoming a private detective wasn't entirely necessary…

'_Ryuuzaki law and justice'_

Still nothing.

Giving a tired sigh, for he was much too fatigued to emit a noise that truly embodied his frustrations, he decided that he would type in one more search, and that would be the end of it.

'_Ryuuzaki detective'_

Light watched with as much intentness as he could muster from his tired being. It flashed white and then an error materialized upon the screen.

-o-

The news that morning had one main story…Light would have known that if he had decided to watch it. Instead he had ignored the television set as he tiredly made a cup of tea. He had awoken before the rest of the family, and had decided to relish in the quiet of a Sunday morning. This particular Sunday morning, he had changed into a pair of rumpled khaki pants and a plain black t-shirt…it had been ages since he'd worn something so casual for anything but exercise. But he felt there was little occasion to dress for. Soichiro had set out already the previous day, back to work upon the Casanova Murder Case. It was a reluctant parting but Soichiro gave them a stern smile and said that their safety was his responsibility.

Sayu had hugged him tight as she could manage, saying how much she loved him and did not want him to go. Sachiko had given him a half-hearted hug, torn between disappointment because she was slowly losing her husband and the still-present love she felt towards her spouse. He had whispered something private into her ear as the two embraced. After he had left, Sachiko cried quietly to herself as she made dinner. Sayu had been up in her room, working upon homework. Light was sitting upon the couch, pretending he couldn't hear Sachiko's failed attempts to mute her sobs. She had gone through her entire marital life like this, spending her days as a single parent with short interludes of contact with her husband.

He had notched up the volume, only to find that the news was broadcasting once more about the Casanova Murders. Not only did that remind him about Ryuuzaki, but also of the shambles that his family had fallen into. That night he'd ended up watching Reality Television rather than listening glum current of events that rippled through the news stations.

Grumbling to himself with the recollection, Light continued to pace sluggishly about the kitchen, waiting for his tea-water to boil. He glimpsed momentarily at the clock. He had another two hours before the time he usually set out for the coffee shop at. But today he felt as though he didn't want to attend. It was as though he wanted to sip his tea in brooding silence then curl up into a cocoon of nothingness. The last thing he wanted was to go into that damned shop with Ryuuzaki jabbing at stitched up wounds that were still in the process of healing. It had only been a year, and the lesion to his pride and reputation was still trying to mend itself.

He blatantly ignored the bad taste that culminated in his mouth.

Light decided not to wait for the water to boil, turning the knob on the stove and shutting off the heat. He took his messenger back and slung it over his shoulder, then placed the camera around his neck by it's customary black band. Stretching his bare arms, Light then walked briskly towards the door and began to pull his shoes on. He needed some air to clear his head; he couldn't stay in this suffocating house. Outside it was clear and beautiful. The morning sun beamed down, small rays causing the passing cars to glisten in the light. Puffy white clouds sat adjacent to clear blue skies, the color of a hardened aquamarine.

It was a sense of liberation as he trekked away from home. And Light knew that it was time again for him to move out. He had had his own apartment once when he had a steady job, but after losing it and thus relieving himself of a steady salary, he was forced to move back into his parent's house. He couldn't tell exactly whether his Mother and Father had been exactly pleased about him moving back in. Glad to see him again but unhappy about his fall from grace. Since then he had been making a small amount of money by selling his prints at obscure art shows and over the internet. Not a significant amount of income but enough to pay for small luxuries and to help his parents out with bills and groceries and more recently to pay for Ryuuzaki's sweet-tooth.

He knew he had a good source of money; it sat across from him every morning. Just a couple shots, and if he sold them he would make a small fortune…why did the obstinate man keep refusing? It was maddening…he just needed a few shots.

-o-

"Must we reenact this once more?" Ryuuzaki asked in monotone, leaning over his donut. "I cannot let you take pictures of me."

"_Why not?_" Light hissed with urgency.

"Simply because," Ryuuzaki replied airily despite the seething man across from him. Light fell back dejectedly into his seat, muttering a string of curses. Ryuuzaki observed him with waning interest and took decidedly more fascination in the homemade donut in front of him. Light resisted the urge to storm out once more. In hindsight, such a reaction was childish and immature. He was a grown man; he could deal with the mention of his own problems without unnecessary reactions such as that. But he couldn't ignore the knotted feeling that solidified itself in his gut. "Did you hear of the development in the Casanova Murders?"

"What?" Light had also neglected to buy a newspaper this morning.

"I suppose you didn't then." Ryuuzaki went back to his donut.

"What?" Light repeated, the cadence in his voice urging Ryuuzaki to continue.

"One lived."

"You mean…"

"Someone survived one of his attacks."


	4. Past

_Forgive me, this chapter took a longer. My writing schedule became a bit muddled up with all the Easter Festivities. Happy Easter everyone!_

_**Warnings: **__Some mentions of child abuse and rape, nothing graphic or vulgar, just a briefly mentioned scenario._

_Thank you everyone for the reviews and kind words!_

-

-

-

Light gave a tired sigh, rolling over then looking out the sliding glass doors letting in the moonlight. The twin sheaths of translucent glass led onto a small porch jutting off from his room. Tonight he had left the curtains open. They had been closed when he had first gone to sleep, but after deciding he wouldn't be able to get a steady amount of it, he had opened the blinds to let some of the starlight in. It was a perfectly clear night, the full orb of silver casting a ghastly, mysterious glow.

Light stared it down with an intense (and somewhat sleepy) expression, almost as though he could see through the pallor and to the mysterious dark side it refused to show. After a while, Light's glare became less fixated and his eyelids fluttered tiredly. In his mind, he turned over what Ryuuzaki had said.

A license to become a private detective: _not entirely necessary, _he had mentioned offhandedly. That girl…the famous one that had survived on of the Casanova Killer's attacks. _One survived. _Light's peaking interest in the hugely commercialized Killings. _Might I suggest some detective work? _

Light closed his eyes tightly, trying to force all the thoughts away

-

-

-

Young, attractive, intelligent, and on the rise, Light Yagami had much to look forward to. He graduated his standard four-year college at the top of his class and delivered a noteworthy speech at graduation. Said speech had even made its way into print. Success permeated from him, oozing out from his pores, visible in his manner, his speech, and the way he carried himself. He attended Law School quickly after graduation, spending two years devoting the majority of his energy to his studies. The rest of his time was spent toiling away at photography, which was another thing he excelled at. However the young man had felt it best that he dedicate his time to a more practical education.

After finishing up with Law School, the hungry graduate immediately went in search of a job. There were all sorts of careers he was qualified for, and even though he was tempted by an offer from a law firm in Kawasaki, Light knew what he had wanted for a job. He had immediately taken up employment with the NPA, just as his Father before him had.

And to be honest, things had been going quite desirably. That was until one certain case.

It was the murder of a young girl, her bones had been found, buried in a plastic garbage bag. She had been seven years old at the time of death. The first suspects were the girl's parents, who had since divorced. The Mother had later remarried. After interviewing her, she promptly burst into tears with the news, moaning and wailing about her little girl. She immediately redirected them to her ex-husband, who she said was always a little _too_ sketchy, thus the cause for their divorce. After reading up on the father of the little girl, they had found that he was as slimy as the woman had claimed. He had had a slew of girlfriends in the past, three failed marriages, and quite a criminal record. He was a convicted wife-beater and had been caught once with several guns, which were illegal in Japan. The NPA promptly went to track him down, as he was a prime suspect. It's likely that he was the man who had murdered the innocent little seven-year-old. They found him in a surprisingly nice home, prospering on income from an unseen employer. The NPA immediately brought him in for questioning.

"I told you, I didn't do anything to her…her mother and me…yeah, I was already gone when she disappeared. Bitch'd already kicked me out of the place."

Light watched the interrogation from the corner of the dimly lit room, his arms crossed. He wore a neatly-pressed suit and meticulously polished shoes. His hair was smoothed perfectly into place; the only thing amiss was his face, which was screwed up into an expression of utter loathing. He felt complete hatred for this pathetic excuse of a human being, sitting in a chair adjacent to him.

"I told you, I don't know nothin'…I'm not talking to you people."

The man scoffed slightly, folding his meaty arms across his ample chest. The interrogation commenced, and the suspect could only elicit insults and the declaration that he was simply not going to comply. After a good hour, he finally bellowed that he wanted a lawyer, and that he would _not _talk to them. After this, morale had taken a nosedive. The entire staff of the NPA seemed morose at their lack of luck. But they would get the bastard, they all knew that. They all had faith in the justice system, despite its flaws.

Slowly they began to dissect the evidence presented to them. They looked for a motive for murder and found several. One, he had found the child burdensome and decided to dispose of her. Two, he had felt such unimaginable rage at his wife for kicking him out, he then resolved to commit and act of passionate murder as retribution. Three, he was a sick bastard just out for some entertainment. The latter seemed plausible after sifting through his dark and troubled past. After his first wife had informed him that she was leaving, he had beaten her so badly he gave her brain damage. She was too afraid to testify against him. Once his second wife (the one whom he had had the child with) had repeated his first wife, the NPA believed he had murdered an innocent child out of sheer madness and enragement. And his third wife was dead, a supposed accidental drug overdose, just weeks after she had started to search for lawyer and was about ready to drag him into court.

All in all, the evidence against his character was beginning to stack up. Every time he had been scorned, he had struck back and— at least in his mind—gotten even with the women who had chosen to rid themselves of him. But they needed physical evidence, and it was clear that he had taken great precaution when it came to disposing of the body. They couldn't find fingerprints or a single trace of hair or blood anywhere. They would need a search warrant on his home. Due to the appalling nature of the crime (any time someone brutalized a child, it sprouted controversy) they quickly obtained a search warrant for his oddly luxurious home. In it, they had found several applicable facts for their case. He was not only a drug user but also a drug dealer, hence the fact that he had such a fine home without having a "real" job.

But they also found a large collection of homemade tapes. The majority were sex tapes. Light and Matsuda, who had entered the house together, had sifted through the tapes in awkward silence. Most of the tapes contained captured film of their suspect with an array of women. No wonder he had been divorced three times. The flustered silence between the two persisted. And these sex tapes remained harmless…that was until they had come across one.

In it starred the little girl, no younger than five, along with their suspect. He was abusing her. And it was all caught on tape.

Light fought the urge to retch. Matsuda actually did, sprinting from the building and tasting his burger and fries for the second time that day. It was appalling and horrifying…Light had to turn it off, he couldn't sit through the entire thing. Porn was one thing…but that was another entirely. Taking the tape and sealing it in a plastic bag, he had given it to Matsuda, who was sitting on the front steps of the house. Matsuda had gone quickly back to NPA headquarters to deliver the evidence. Light had subjected himself to sorting through the rest of the tapes then finishing up on inspecting the house.

There was nothing else of relevance.

But those ghastly images still floated in Light's head, whispering like demons and breathing against his thoughts with breath that stank of fetid meat. How he despised that man, how he hated him. He wanted to see him suffer for what he had done. Light wanted to see his eyes, wide and lifeless, finally judged for his immorality. He wanted to feel as though vengeance had been brought upon this slime. He wanted to give him the ultimate punishment. The murderous feelings towards this man were intoxicatingly potent, but Light repressed them, and once more placed his hope in the justice system. Japan always had high public support of capital punishment and with enough evidence, justice would prevail.

But with just the tape and a bad history alone, they might not have enough to convince that he deserved the death sentence for his actions. Light needed something so traumatizing, so devastating to the defense that this penalty was seen as absolutely necessary, that this man would need to be cleansed from the world.

Light Yagami needed a confession from his suspect.

-

-

-

"I found your tapes."

"Ah…you did?" the man gave him a toothy grin. "Did you enjoy them?"

"Up until the part where I found the one of you raping your daughter." After this statement, Light's jaw clamped tightly shut, grinding his teeth together to try and distract himself from jumping over the table and choking the life out of the suspect.

The man's face faltered. "I didn't do nothin'," he repeated quietly.

"Of course you didn't," snapped Light. "I_ am_ going to convict you, and I'm going to make sure you're dead. Lie all you want, play games all you want, but I will make sure you end up on death row. I'm going to get you to admit to your own crimes, and I _am_ going to be standing at the table parallel to yours when they read your sentencing."

The man gave a small laugh. "How stupid do you think I am? I was so drugged out when that happened…I didn't know who was who, what was what. I need rehabilitation."

Of course, he was playing the drug card, which made sense seeing that he dealt drugs for a living and was clearly a user himself. That would get him a few years in a rehabilitation center and then eventually he would be cycled back onto the street. And the injustice of that prospect was causing Light's limbs to pulsate with disgust and the entire unfairness of his claim. He had known what he was doing, and from that smug grin on his face, he had no remorse for the action.

-

-

-

"Light…that's illegal," Aizawa said with disbelief.

"I need to get a confession out of him," Light replied firmly.

"You can't torture an answer out of him!"

"And what, use the physical evidence we've gathered? Because we have _none_, Aizawa. He's going to plead that he was under the influence when he raped her—" Aizawa flinched "—and we can't even completely prove the murder! And he's going to end up back on the street…" Light's stated the last sentence sulkily. "Is that what you want?"

Aizawa stared with disbelief at Light. "We'll get a case against him; we don't need to resort to that."

Light's eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you with me or not?"

"I'm sorry Light…I can't. That would endanger my job, my livelihood."

"Fine," Light said, nearly snarling. And he walked briskly away, with angry breaks in his walk.

Matsuda and Mogi followed suit with their answers, and Light had the epiphany that he was completely and truly alone. He didn't bother to consult his father, because if he was as blind as the others, then the answer would be the same. Did they all really want this abomination back on the streets? Did they not care, not feel as strongly as he did? He had to do what must be done.

-o-

"One count of illegal possession of a firearm, two counts of assault and battery…"

Light Yagami stared straight ahead as his crimes were read. He had gotten his confession on tape, he had also received a lawsuit from the suspect, and he was going to court with him, just days before he should have been on the prosecution side instead of defense. Light had lost his job in quick succession as soon as the tapes surfaced, and it tattooed itself onto his permanent record. Light Yagami, the twisted cop. Light Yagami, a brutal torturer. And suddenly the brightness of his career dimmed significantly.

But it was for that little girl who had needlessly been murdered. That man deserved tenfold for what he had done, Light had resisted the urge to do much worse to him. Yet here he was, in court with all his colleagues and coworkers sitting behind him. Not to mention his mother and his father, watching the trial with disappointment in their eyes. Light felt the urge to scream, to yell so hard that he would finally push it into their heads how ridiculous this was. But he only stared impassively forward.

-

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-

The three months that Light spent in jail were perhaps the worst and lengthiest months of his life. He refused to speak of the abhorrence that occurred doing his brief stay in prison; he couldn't stand speaking on the subject nor could he even handle the mention of it. Several times his parents had attempted to corner him into talking about it, letting out some of his emotions, but every time he brushed it off with a contrived smile. Light Yagami, considered a genius, acquired a steady job with the NPA, and had never broken the law before in his life, was condemned and locked away. That in itself made Light's stomach lurch, even if it was only for three months. After that he could never get a job, despite his brilliant mind and desirable medley of education. At least nothing more than a job flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant.

And he still had those images from the tapes, floating in his head like horrible reminders.

-

-

-

Light's eyes flashed open. Where the moon once claimed the sky the sun now sat, several clouds obscuring its intense rays. He blinked with the sudden light, holding up a thin hand to block it. It took him several moments to come back to reality. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the young man brushed off the dream, dismissing it with an uneasy stomach. It wasn't often that he dreamt, and when he did it was an indicator that he was under stress; stress or some other compromising situation that pressing against his subconscious. He could only assume it was a mixture of the Casanova Murder Cases, Ryuuzaki, and his family life.

Ruffling his hair and throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of pants he found lying upon the floor, Light padded downstairs to go watch the news. On it, he expected to see the same story they had been broadcasting since the previous day. Ryuuzaki had mentioned it to him before he had left the Shop. The survivor. Placing on a pot of tea and then flopping down on the couch, the photographer flipped on the television. The screen flared to life, the station was already upon the News. And of course they were broadcasting it. The news was headline worthy after all. Half the screen was taken up by an anchor; the other half was a still image of a young girl, the one and only survivor of the Casanova Killer.

The young and beautiful uprising star: Misa Amane.


	5. Jail

Misa Amane had been stabbed over twenty times. Five times in the abdomen, ten times in the back, three times along her forearms (which she had most likely held up in her defense), once along her thigh, and finally in the area just shy of her heart. It was a miracle she survived…no, not a miracle. It was random luck and chance of circumstance. The attempted murder had taken place in her ground-floor apartment complex. Judging from the description of the scene, Amane had answered a doorbell. When she had opened the door to see who it was, the murderer stood in the doorway.

Confused, Amane motions to ask who he is. The words barely have time to leave her lips before he springs on her like a predator. With a hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet, he stabs her several times in the back. She screams and finally manages to break free from his grasp. The murderer comes after her with his knife, the hand wielding the weapon shooting out like a snake. It catches her on the thigh. She screams and falls backwards. The murderer pursues her as she scrambles backward, lashing out wildly with the blade. She holds up her arms to protect her face. The knife embeds itself in her flesh a total of three times before her arms are pushed away. He settles the sharp edge into her heart.

The murderer steps back, surveying his work. Amane is still alive, bleeding profusely and twitching with pain upon the carpet. Using the bloody knife, the assailant shears the bloody design of a heart onto the thick carpet, then carves a smaller, similar one into the side of her neck. He leaves, thinking that she will be dead in a matter of minutes. Amane, despite her frail appearance, fights her own pain and fatigue and crawls out the door that was left ajar. She leaves a blood trail behind her as she drags her unhelpfully wounded body across the hall. She makes it into the lobby of the apartment complex before collapsing.

Soon after, a tenant stumbles across her. He immediately calls emergency services. They arrive in a matter of minutes. Amane is running out of blood at a sickeningly fast pace, the red substance pooling around her in seemingly impossible amounts. They manage to carefully haul her into the back of the ambulance. They try to stop the bleeding to preserve what little blood she has left.

At the hospital, she is immediately given several blood transfusions and is prepped for surgery to close up the wounds. She survives the night in critical condition. Fans everywhere were sending letters to the hospital and NPA. Angry and confused phone calls poured in. Cameramen and photographers gathered around the hospital in roaring swarms, pushing and pulling to try and get a shot. Police have to be stationed in front of the entrance of the hospital. The flow of patients coming in and out stunted for a short time. Police then rush to the scene of the murder to block it off before it can be touched or the evidence tampered with. Japan is in hysteria.

Their Misa Amana, Misa-Misa, was lying in a hospital bed riddled with stab wounds. Even she was vulnerable to the Casanova Killer. The people became panic-stricken, locking their windows and doors tightly. The streets were cleared in seemingly minutes. It's quiet as anything. Some business owners close up their shops, worried that the Casanova Killer might waltz in with the knife. Even if the threat was ridiculously miniscule, people still felt national fear, rooted mostly in the fact that a famous celebrity had been brutalized. And she had been victimized so easily. He had just walked in, taken a knife to her, and ran off. The thought of a death like that…and having it be so _easy _was positively terrifying to the public.

Light depicted the scenario almost calculatingly. His face hardly flinched with the images of murder that flashed across his minds eye. Ryuuzaki watched him curiously from across the table.

Outside the Coffee Shop, the streets were barren and empty. They lacked the life and vitality that had been present just a short time ago. Where children once ran, chased by exasperated mothers, there was silence. Where men and women were once pulled along by their dogs, now there was nothing. It was eerie and caused for the general feeling to be one of mute discomfort and edginess. As if the silence could snap like a terse string at the lightest touch, the lightest breach of perfect nothingness. The only one who took his chances was Ryuuzaki.

"You seem absorbed."

Light didn't notice. He was wrapped in the soundproof cocoon of his thoughts.

"Thinking about…" Ryuuzaki's eyes locked onto Light, whose mind was still focused inward, "prison?"

Light blinked. "What?"

"I was wondering what you seem to be pondering so deeply. My guess was prison. And yours?"

"Why would I guess, it's my mind?" Light snapped crossly.

"Oh…yes," Ryuuzaki acknowledged, but it was clear this held little consequence to him.

"And what makes you say that?" Light prodded, suspicion glowing in his eyes. Ryuuzaki's pale white fingers wrapped around the sticky pastry before him. Thick syrupy-like juices oozed from the side, dripping over his fingers and down onto the table. Ryuuzaki propped his mouth open and guided the pastry into the wide, awaiting hole. By now Light had become used to his messy manner of consumption. He no longer flinched when the pasty male bit off a bit too much tart or took the cup of sugar and promptly tipped the container straight into his mouth. He was starting to become accustomed to it, and that realization irked Light.

"Nothing in particular…" Ryuuzaki began. "I just happened to search you on the internet the other day." He finished this with a surprisingly nonchalant tone.

"You searched me…on the internet?" Light's tone was quizzical. He had been doing the exact same thing for Ryuuzaki, only he wasn't about to mention that.

"Mm, yes," Ryuuzaki said, raising a hand and waving it in front of his face. "You have quite a past." Ryuuzaki's pink tongue flicked out and he began to lap at his sticky fingers. Light watched with an adamantine stare. Cued by Light's silence, Ryuuzaki continued. He spoke whilst his tongue worked systematically upon his syrup-coated fingers. Light found himself focusing on that small, wet appendage, wrapping around bony fingertips.

"You looked grim…" Ryuuzaki paused to focus more on his hand. It took him a moment to start back up again. "So I assumed it was something from your past."

"Is there a need to pry into my past?" Light asked eyes still on Ryuuzaki's hands.

"I find you interesting," he replied coolly, drawing back his hand and lifting up his next one. "Your past must have been…" Ryuuzaki cocked his head with thought, "intriguing. And it proved to be so. I was just wondering why you were so careless and allowed yourself go to jail."

"_Allowed_ myself go to _jail_?" Light demanded. "Are you mad? Why would I _allow _myself go to jail?"

"There are a number of reasons…curiosity, you like being at the center of attention, of controversy. Perhaps you wanted to see what it was like in the shoes of the criminal…but that doesn't sound like you. The viewpoint is too broad."

Light twisted his face into a livid grimace. Ryuuzaki continued, placing his thumb to his lips in thought.

"You have more narrow sight…was it that maybe you wanted a thrill? It's not as though you would have held the job after the case, with or without the conviction…morals of the NPA conflicted with yours too much. And it wasn't as if the subject matter of the case fazed you as much as you claim. I doubt it really affected you that strongly. Maybe you thought that acting as the martyr would expose the flaws in the justice system. You could use that incident as a catalyst to feed your own beliefs down the throats of others. As an incident to point the finger at, one which you were at the center of. And then you bit off a little more than you could chew."

"Would you stop!?" Light exclaimed, nearly bellowing. He reached across the table and grabbed a handful of Ryuuzaki's baggy, white shirt. It was the first time Light had dared physical contact, and the man still looked as indifferent as ever. Light scowled hatefully. His fist vibrated, tugging violently against the cloth. Ryuuzaki gave him a neutral glare. The girl working at the counter looked terrified.

Finally Light yanked his hand back, grabbed his things, and began to stalk out. He stopped just shy of the door. Turning around, he fished out several bills from his pocket and threw them with little care onto the table. Coffee-brown eyes clashed with charcoal grey ones. He then rotated on his heel and walked out onto the empty streets at a much calmer pace. Once he was a safe distance away, Light felt cool hatred (mostly at himself) slide through his veins.

-

-

-

The hospital that housed Misa Amane was surrounded. There would always be at least twenty people, arrays of photographers, journalists, anchors, and men with cameras congregated around the entrance. There was also always a guard on duty, a gun sitting peacefully on his hip. Calm until the moment it would be drawn for action. Light walked past the scene, observing to see if there would be a loophole from him to slide through. With all these people meandering around the entrance, he would very easily be caught trying to slip through without any sort of medical problem. Clearly the front door was not an accessible point.

The only other ways included him suddenly keeling over from a mysterious medical condition or him acquiring the authority to pass through the guards. Both were impossible unless the injury was self-inflicted or he somehow was bestowed with his old job, not that he would take it. What were police reduced to now? They were standing in front of the hospital guarding against _paparazzi_. However Light had an idea. Not that it would be put into effect until Misa Amane was conscious. Slipping inside the hospital would be fruitless if she was lying unconscious when he arrived. Confirmation of her coherence was integral information, which he could acquire by accessing his Father's police reports. That much was taken care of.

-

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-

Surprisingly enough, Soichiro was present at dinner that night. Once more he looked completely spent, but there was sureness about his expression. Like sudden clarity had dawned across his tired features and brought pride back to his wrinkles and dignity to the bags beneath his eyes. Sachiko had worked hard upon this specific dinner, making sure that it was as pleasurable as possible for her husband. It was her small, hardly audible, call to be noticed. She flushed with pride when Soichiro complimented her on her Miso Soup.

"I wanted to talk to everyone about something," Soichiro said, laying down his chopsticks and sitting up straighter. Sayu dropped her chopsticks and her attention went dutifully to her Father. Light was much slower with his attentiveness, setting down his chopsticks slowly and turning his eyes lazily towards Soichiro.

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone this…" Soichiro started, his face contorting into one that was clearly weighted with decision. "But I thought you deserved to know."

"What is it?" Sayu asked anxiously, leaning forward towards her father. Sachiko shushed her. Sayu sunk back into her chair with her Mother's chastisement.

"L is involved with the Casanova Murder Cases…and he wants the assistance of the NPA."

"And?" Light asked. Soichiro gave his son a strange look. It was a mutation of love, disappointment, and anguish.

"Please understand that I need to do this. I'm going to be home even less now…"

"No!" Sayu cried, shaking her head. Her dark tresses whipped through the air. "You're never home! You come every once and a while for dinner and then you go to sleep…I-I…_I miss my Father!"_ she got to her feet and sprinted out, trying to hide the tears that crystallized in the corner of her eyes. Sachiko cast her husband an apologetic look before she briskly went to follow Sayu.

"You understand, Light?" Soichiro asked solemnly.

"Completely," Light replied blankly, picking up his chopsticks and going back to his meal. Soichiro gave a small sigh, getting to his feet and pursuing the two women. The photographer chewed thoughtfully, thankful for the blessed silence. Somewhere dimly in the background her could catch the faintest vestiges of the voices of his family. However he focused on his food as he dined surrounded by invisible guests and still-full plates.

-

-

-

Light glared at his computer screen. It glared right back at him. He grimaced. It remained impassive. In the search bar, he had once more typed in:

'_Ryuuzaki Detective'_

Something had compelled him to try the search once more. He didn't know what it was…perhaps he just wanted to tie up the loose end. To have some closure even though he knew that it was positively ridiculous. Clicking enter, he watched the loading screen with anticipation. Realizing this emotion, he then bashed mercilessly back down, forcing himself to wait with a vacant expression.

The results popped up.

Nothing.

Simply nothing.

Light scoffed at himself. He felt like a fool for searching it again. After shutting off the monitor, he flopped down onto his bed. The ceiling was terribly uninteresting and did little to keep his mind off Ryuuzaki. He loathed the fact that he was admittedly curious about him and the fact that the odd pale-faced man had integrated himself into Light's schedule. Now he was a part of it, latching on like a leech that refused to let go. Or was it Light that refused to let go? Because it had been Light that had stomped out, only to turn around and pay the bill.

Then the brunette realized that pictures—which had been his original intention—were one of the last things he associated with Ryuuzaki.

In fact they came in dead last.


	6. Bliss

Light gave a small snicker. It had been a whiles since he had uttered anything similar to a laugh, but he couldn't help it at the moment. Ryuuzaki sat across from him, attempting to get little bits of candy into his mouth. The multi-colored treats filled a small box and the tiny little things were proving to be quite tricky. Well, at least for Ryuuzaki. Any normal person would have had an easy time with them. However Ryuuzaki's habitual use of his forefinger and thumb made things a little harder. He first tried to stick his fingers into the small opening and grab out the candy. It had slipped from the place between his fingertips. Ryuuzaki blinked, leaning over to look at the floor and the fallen candy. He then took another approach.

Ryuuzaki held up the box delicately and brought it up to his awaiting mouth. The box hovered for a while, the contents seemingly stuck in the bottom. Light had watched with an amused expression as Ryuuzaki waited with his mouth open wide, face contorted in a queer expression. The photographer had to place a hand over his mouth to stifle the small, rude smirk. Finally the candies surged out of the small entrance. It became obvious that the tiny sweets had come out much faster than Ryuuzaki had hypothesized. He coughed as they descended down his throat at a rapid speed.

For someone who appeared so intelligent, he seemed to have no basic knowledge of menial things.

"Do you need some help?" Light asked in a bemused tone. Ryuuzaki had set down the box, eyeing warily as if it was a deadly enemy.

"No, thank you," Ryuuzaki replied, continuing to stare at the box.

"You're over-thinking it," Light replied with a chastising grin. He reached out and grabbed the box. Giving Ryuuzaki a dubious stare, the brunette picked it up and began imitating the dark-haired man's style of holding things. Light's thumb and forefinger daintily balanced the box. He tipped it gently, holding out his palms to catch the bits of candy that spilled out from the entrance. His face held a slightly cocky expression even though such a simple task gave him little merit to brag. "There, simple."

"Are you going to give them to me?"

"What?" Light asked in a startled tone.

"Those," Ryuuzaki's head inclined to the colorful candy that pooled around the center of Light's palm. The brunette quirked an eyebrow, looking at the pastel face of Ryuuzaki and then back to his palm.

"Yeah," Light said, shrugging. Ryuuzaki opened his mouth.

"W-what the hell are you _doing_?" the photographer snatched back his hand. He seemed like he was horrified by the prospect of depositing the rainbow-tinted handful straight into Ryuuzaki's awaiting orifice.

"You said you would give me them," Ryuuzaki said pointedly.

Light tried to restrain his derisive laughter; the result was a freakish sort of cackle. It was just the way Ryuuzaki had said it, so _seriously_, as if he was asking him to pass the salt instead of feed him across the table. And that expression…he seemed _dead-serious _on the matter_. _Light turned his hand over and placed the candies on the table so they lay flat beneath his palm. "I don't think we're that intimate," Light replied. He had to admit, he found that one slightly comical, nearly laugh-worthy. As he set down the candy in front of the pale-faced male, the small pieces made clicking noises against the table. Ryuuzaki's reply was issued as a lack of one, instead focusing upon the candy. "You can just sweep them into your palm," Light said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. However he completely ignored Light's advice and continued to stubbornly pick them up piece by piece with his thumb and forefinger.

"Is something bothering _you _today?" Light asked, leaning forward and placing a thoughtful hand upon his chin. He did seem off today. Not nearly as obstinate and noticeably quieter than usual. His responses were sparse in dialogue to begin with, but now said dialogue was hardly existent. Ryuuzaki gave a small pause at Light's inquiry.

"No."

"I think you're lying," Light said, giving him a satirical smile.

"_I_ _think _is a weak phrase," Ryuuzaki said quietly. "That or _I believe_ normally begins a statement of something lacking factuality."

"Obviously I don't know what your problems are. Unlike you, I don't pry into your past or your life. It's just a harmless question."

"Then why bother ask if it's that inconsequential to you? You wouldn't ask if it meant nothing, and you are asking me. You are also pursuing the answer despite my blatant refusal."

"Firstly, I ask inconsequential things. In fact most of the_ normal_ population does. It's called small talk. And something _is _bothering you," Light said, offering up a wry grin. "You're not normally like this. You're cool as a cucumber the majority of the time. But your composure is ruffled." He seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that he felt in control of the conversation, that he had Ryuuzaki on the defensive. The belief that _he _had the great master of word games wrapped around his finger, pushing Ryuuzaki backwards onto his own territory. It took Light a moment to realize that this wasn't even a war of words. It was just a conversation between two friends, sitting across from each other in a casual Coffee Shop.

_Wait a minute…friends?_

Ryuuzaki was not a friend, Light affirmed himself, and he was just some odd sort of staple that punctured itself through his agenda. It was just mindless musings and the word 'friend' had slipped past his subconscious.

"Firstly, you are anything but _normal, _Light Yagami...and the truth of my mood is...well you see…" Ryuuzaki said, staring sulkily at his tea. "This morning was I searching for my favorite shirt. Only I couldn't happen to find it, and it has me in a foul mood."

Light gave him an unconvinced stare. "That's the same shirt you wear everyday." He donned the familiar white, long-sleeve top and baggy jeans along with his scruffy pair of trainers. "It's exactly the same."

"No, I'm afraid it's not," Ryuuzaki stated sadly. His sarcasm was well disguised.

"Could you give me a real answer?" Light's impatience at Ryuuzaki's impudence was steadily mounting.

"I already have."

"No you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

"No, you ha—" Light cut himself off. "I'm not going to argue with you like a child."

"You are childish, just as I am, no matter how much you choose to turn a blind eye to it. And besides you like to be right. I can deduce that just now you are berating me for denying an issue I _must_ have, because you deem it so. What if I just dislike Tuesdays? What if I find this candy to be not nearly as good as the pastry yesterday?" Light's cheeks colored with anger. He was not childish. In fact he fancied himself far from childish. He had always thought of himself as a mature adult, but here was this obscure man claiming he was _childish _of all things.

Although he had been berating Ryuuzaki in his mind just moments ago, he couldn't deny that one.

"Would a pastry pick your spirits up, then?" Light asked sardonically.

Ryuuzaki gave him a noncommittal stare. "Yes, it would."

Light frowned and went into his pocket for his brown leather wallet. After fishing out the amount due, he glanced over to the counter. Only the girl wasn't there. She was present nearly everyday, but today she was absent. Instead there was an old man who shuffled about unhelpfully. Light got to his feet and approached the counter.

"One of those, please," he said politely, pointing to a pasty behind the glass display. The old man walked stiffly over, clearly having some trouble bending over.

"Ah…do you know where the girl who normally works here went?"

"Uh…her? We fired her. I own the business." The old man placed the pastry on a small plastic plate, arthritic fingers shaking slightly. "Tough times, y'know?" he stated gruffly, pushing the pastry over the counter and went to type the buttons on the cash register. His fingers moved at an achingly slow.

"Yes…" Light said, glancing back at Ryuuzaki who sat staring blankly ahead. Tough times, he understood that. He understood that all too well. Right now he was having a tough time just trying not to grab Ryuuzaki by his shoulders and shake him.

"Well, thanks for your business," the old man said kindly, giving him a small smile. Light replied to the smile with a small rather weak one of his own ad retreated back to the table where Ryuuzaki waited. Light dropped the plate unceremoniously before the man with skin the color of chalk.

"Happy now?" he asked, sitting down with a bit more force than necessary.

Ryuuzaki poked the pastry with his fork, as if he was trying to decide whether or not it was passable. These tests he conducted included prodding it, taking a taste of the filling, and subsequently giving it a tentative sniff. "Would like the first bite?" Ryuuzaki asked.

"No," Light replied stiffly. "I don't eat those kinds of things."

"And why not?" Ryuuzaki replied, mercilessly impaling the pastry with his fork. He pried off a small piece and held it suspended in the air.

"Because it's terrible for you," Light's tone was filled with impatience. Did he really have to explain it? "It contributes to obesity and a general decay of health."

"Not if you use your mind."

"_What?"_

"You can burn calories with the mind." Ryuuzaki still held the piece aloft on his fork.

"Are you serious?" Light's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "That has to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You have to engage in _physical _activities to burn calories."

Ryuuzaki shrugged. Light sighed. The two watched each other warily.

"Don't you ever eat anything else?" Light asked as Ryuuzaki had taken the liberty of consuming the first piece. He quickly broke off another piece with the fork and raised it to his pale lips.

"Hm…describe what you mean by 'anything else'."

"Normal food," Light replied tonelessly. "Vegetables, fruits, and grains."

"No."

"…No?"

"No."

Light rubbed his temples in an exasperated fashion. "It's a wonder you don't suffer from malnutrition. What did your parents teach you growing up?"

"Nothing," Ryuuzaki said.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Light eyed Ryuuzaki quizzically. His parents had taught him nothing? It made no sense…however Light did not know that Ryuuzaki was in fact an orphan. He had no parents, or at least had not been old enough at the time of their death to recall them. The closest thing he had to a family was his surrogate caretaker, who had never imposed upon him the things Light's parents had on the brunette. Light had been taught to eat right, Ryuuzaki had been taught to eat whatever got his thought process in motion. Light had been taught to play sports, Ryuuzaki had been taught to solve multi-million dollar cases. Their upbringings were shockingly different.

"Doesn't your mouth ever get bitter?" Ryuuzaki asked.

"What…? _Bitter_?"

"Without anything sweet, including your personality, it must be rather acidic."

Light gave him a peeved look. "My personality has nothing to do with how my mouth _tastes. _And why the hell do you claim my mouth tastes acidic? On what basis?"

"I'll have to investigate that later." Ryuuzaki said. "I assure you I'll find enough evidence to prove my supposition."

"Whatever," Light muttered darkly to himself, not gracing that declaration with a reply. And besides he wasn't _bitter_. And his mouth was not acidic of all things. All the girls he had kissed in his lifetime had never once complained of an acidic flavoring. In fact most girls wanted nothing more than a kiss from him, so his mouth clearly must not be as sour as Ryuuzaki claimed.

"You changed the subject quite efficiently," Light intoned, crossing his arms. "How about tomorrow I bring you a _real _lunch?"

"You're going to bring it regardless of what I say. You're stubborn, so I'll say yes and save myself the trouble."

"I'm not stubborn. You can't honestly live on cakes and pastries alone," Light uttered, leaning back in the chair.

"Ah, but I can live on cakes, pastries, candy, tea, and sugar cubes."

"Adding in more sweets doesn't make it sufficient."

"It doesn't?" Ryuuzaki cocked his head, giving him what appeared to be a genuinely confused stare. Light grimaced angrily.

"No, it does not."

"Really?"

"_Yes_." Light paused. "And now you have me arguing with you again."

"I am?"

"Stop goading me," Light said in a defeated tone. He just couldn't be bothered to feel angry or irritated at Ryuuzaki anymore. He knew that at every turn the raven-haired, evasive man would be prodding and poking at his conscious. As if he was a brain surgeon, pressing the soft pink flesh to see what particular reaction it would elicit in response. These constant and subtle psychometric tests always commenced, so why bother paying them that much mind anymore? The fact of the matter was he was getting used to it. He was getting used to his odd habits. To his quirks and to his word games. He was getting used to Ryuuzaki.

And that thought irked him.

-

-

-

Misa Amane was conscious. The papers went crazy, spinning with controversy and rumors. Mostly the promise of her being able to describe the Casanova Killer and bringing the NPA closer to bringing him to justice. The prospect of it brought relief to the populous. However the rumors began to spread like plague, almost as badly as it had been when she had first been incapacitated. With her awake, she then knew the Casanova Killer's face. And that would make her a prime target. In fact it would make her _the _target.

But Light failed to see how the elusive Casanova Killer would be able to squirm out of this one. The slippery serial killer had managed to slide _just_ between the NPA's fingers on numerous occasions. He couldn't escape this time. Misa Amane was his downfall that much was clear. Hence her life hung in the balance along with the Casanova Killer's. Naturally the police had stepped up to protect her, stationing guards all along the premises of the hospital. No one was going in or coming out without clearance or a full cavity search for weaponry.

Despite the fact that Japan flared up in outrage over the stunted use of the important and integral hospital, they couldn't deny that they would want to witness the unraveling of the Casanova Killer. And not to mention his number one target was their idol, Misa Amane. The headlines were spinning with rampant controversy and speculation. It was the first story on every news station, and took up a considerable chunk of their time. There were hardly any other cases that had ever received such air time. Then again, it had what everyone wanted. Mystery, murder, passion, fame, and a beautiful young girl. It was prime material.

The NPA struggled beneath the weight of publicity, trying to keep people from slipping inside the hospital and trying to handle all of the cameras and questioning. If one watched the news, they would see clips of hundreds of people roaring outside the hospital while a select number of officers with guns tried to press them back. It was clear that the officers didn't want to hurt anyone they weren't using much force. It was the peak of media attention and hype, hardly a half an hour after the news of her consciousness had been leaked. As a result of the softness of the police and the booming energy of hundreds, the crowds became nearly untamable. Since then, things had started to quiet down. However there was a constant buzz humming in overtones through society. The newspapers sold a little faster, the people walked a little straighter, worked a little harder. Television shows didn't seem to air such bleak specials on murder and other grim subjects. The overall timbre of Japan seemed a bit happier.

Light absorbed all this while he watched the news. It was turned on, the volume notched down low so as not to disturb his slumbering family. His eyes squinted slightly as the attractive anchor babbled on about the Casanova Murder Cases. He stood in the kitchen, neatly arranging a lunch. He had made it and then placed it meticulously in the little box before him. The lunch consisted of boiled vegetables, a bit of salmon, and some leftover salad Light had snatched up from the refrigerator from the night previous. Light had to admit he was at least slightly curious to see Ryuuzaki's facial expression as he lowered a sprout into his mouth.

Packing the small lunch into his messenger bag, Light then slid on his shoes and trod out into the street, leaving the news still on when he closed the door behind him.

-

-

-

"I presume you heard the news," Ryuuzaki stated casually as Light set the box before him.

"About Misa Amane?" Light asked, taking a seat.

"Yes. It's most fortunate she's conscious. Without her the investigation is at a standstill."

"Fortunate until she's murdered," Light said, crossing his legs. Ryuuzaki gave him a scrutinizing stare.

"That's a very jaded opinion. I will not let Miss Amane die."

Light laughed. "What are you going to do, run to the hospital and be her knight in shining armor? You can't even walk with your back upright." And despite the fact that Light had made a joke about this, it was merely a guise for the curiosity he held at the sentence that Ryuuzaki had just spoken; like he was in control of Misa Amane's fate. But he wasn't, as far as Light's knowledge stretched.

"I will not let her die because I am a huge fan," Ryuuzaki said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Light placed a hand on his knee. "I couldn't exactly picture you ogling over models." In fact it was hard to picture the man with genitals at all for some indescribable reason. It almost seemed as though they were too _normal _for him to possess. "Are you going to eat that or not?"

Ryuuzaki glanced down at the neatly organized lunch before him. "Am I allowed sweets after?" His face was pouted with sarcasm.

"I'm not your mother," Light snapped.

"Yes. If that's true, then stop acting as if you are."

The brunette's cheeks reddened. "You're a real goddamn ass sometimes, you know that?"

"Hm…"

Ryuuzaki picked up a piece of broccoli between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes."


	7. Camera

Light watched with a quietly intense expression as Ryuuzaki eyed the broccoli that was suspended from between his fingertips. He looked mildly horrified by grass-green hue it had. Light's momentary curiosity about his reaction to "regular" food was starting to wear thin, as the man spent longer time looking at it than trying it. "Take a bite," Light sighed, placing an elbow on the table. Ryuuzaki in turn ignored him and continued to observe the vegetable; in fact at the moment he was rotating it to get an entire 360 degree view. The next couple of minutes consisted of the dark-haired man trying to detect something wrong with the morsel. Finally he decided to reply.

"Am I allowed to put sugar on it?"

"Just stick it in your mouth!"

"There's no reason to shout."

"I'm not shouting," Light said broodingly, toning down his voice several notches. Ryuuzaki cast him a victorious stare. "Are you going to try it or not? It shouldn't be this hard."

"But it is," Ryuuzaki replied, bringing the broccoli close to his mouth. He stopped. "You try it first."

Light sighed again. "It's not poisoned."

"It's considered good manners for the host to taste the food first."

"Back in twelfth century it was."

"What's so different now?"

"A lot, Ryuuzaki, for instance we have bathrooms, we don't piss in holes in the ground anymore," Light retorted quickly.

"I was meant psychologically-speaking. Technology has had a huge impact, but hasn't changed the overall temper and customs of man. We still share ceremonies and customs with our ancient brethren." Ryuuzaki's rebuttal caused Light to quiet for a moment in thought.

"I didn't poison it," Light repeated dully, "after all this time why would I choose to poison you now? After I've purchased all those sweets and tea for you? It makes no sense, and I have no motive anyways."

"Very true," Ryuuzaki replied thoughtfully after a moment. "But are manners that hard to practice?"

"You're impossible," Light said, snatching the broccoli from Ryuuzaki's fingers and quickly taking a bite. He chewed swallowed then handed it back to the smug-faced man across from him.

Ryuuzaki gave him a slightly cynical smile. "Now I just need to wait twenty minutes to see if you die."

"It's not poisoned!" Light snarled. He was starting to become tired of Ryuuzaki playing games with him, and it was very clear the man was doing just that. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in the fact that he was excessively aggravating Light. Although the photographer assumed the main reason for this was the fact that he didn't want to try the broccoli, hence he was evading it in every manner possible. This strategy was actually working rather well for the man, and the brunette was beginning to wonder if he would have to insert it by force into Ryuuzaki's mouth.

"Just humor me, okay?" Light said quietly.

"That sounded surprisingly earnest," Ryuuzaki said coolly.

"That's because it was."

"Surprising or earnest?"

"Earnest," Light said, trying to keep his tone as a smooth and flat as Ryuuzaki's.

"You didn't say please."

"Please?" Light asked his tone very stiff.

"That wasn't nearly as earnest."

"_Please_?"

"Much better," Ryuuzaki replied, taking the sprout to his mouth. And just like that he opened it and popped it in. Light began to wonder why he wanted Ryuuzaki to try it so much, and was reminded a moment later. Ryuuzaki's face contorted into an expression of agony, as if he had been hit in the face and wasn't simply trying a different food. As he chewed, Light could see veins nearly bulging in his neck. His expression caused Light to smirk. Suddenly imploring 'please' to Ryuuzaki didn't seem like such a big deal if he got this show in return. After feeling that Ryuuzaki had suffered enough, Light intoned smoothly:

"You can spit it out."

Ryuuzaki quickly snatched up a napkin and released the half-chewed green mess into the napkin. After folding it closed he placed it on the table.

"Pastry?" Light asked, flashing a row of white teeth.

Ryuuzaki gave him a stiff nod.

-

-

-

The massacres happened around 6 P.M. that night. It was almost like the last hurrah for the Casanova Killer, like he wanted to go out with a bang. In a span of about three hours he killed five people, taking time to paint a grisly scene at each murder. The scene of the first set of victims was horrifying. It was painted with blood; bludgeoned bodies sprawled out at impossible angles and soaked in red. The murder took place in a small suburban home; he had murdered a mother and her young daughter, just 12 years old. He seemed to be breaking out all the stops, raping the mother and then beating her over the head with a pan from her own kitchen. Then he moved on to the daughter, undressing her then making lateral slices all the way up her body. She died soon after from blood loss.

Next the murderer traveled ten miles and strangled a girl in a women's bathroom. By the time someone had found her, marks of strangulation marring her neck along with the sliced-in heart, he was already gone.

Finally just five miles away from where he had strangled the girl in the bathroom, he picked up a hooker, murdered her and then abducted a female pedestrian and murdered her as well. The bodies had been discovered piled in the back of a stolen car, abandoned on the side of the road. It was almost as if the Casanova Killer was sneering at them:

"_You may have Misa Amane, but you can't stop me."_

Once more he became breaking news. He did have an uncanny knack for being able to make front page and instill fear in the public.

But Light Yagami had a plan. On his desk, he had a schedule which was jotted down into a notebook and next to that his Father's police ID. After scanning the ID and sticking a picture of himself into the slot, he printed it out and laminated it. Attaching a clip to the laminated ID, Light yanked open his desk drawer and removed his leather-bound diary. He lifted up the false bottom to his drawer and laid the ID carefully inside it. Then he closed it up and put the 'diary' atop it. Next he glanced at the schedule which he had been compiling.

It was in fact a schedule of which NPA members guarded the hospital and how long their particular shifts were. He obviously couldn't get past an ex-coworker, but he could convince someone new to let him into the hospital with the right amount of persuasion. Today Matsuda, Mogi, and Aizawa were working shifts. The next day was Ide and two other men that Light was not familiar with. He had a brief window when Ide would be off his shift to slip inside. The trick was to get the men to let him inside so that Ide or someone who knew him would not catch sight of him. The goal was to be persuasive and inconspicuous, both of which Light could accomplish.

Tomorrow he would.

So the question was: What was he going to do today?

Well, he was planning on going to the Coffee Shop, but it was starting to drizzle rain, and he was sure by the time he got there it would be absolutely pouring. The thick grey canopy that occupied the sky could account for that. However for some reason, he found himself gathering up his belongings, hiding his schedule under the false bottom of his drawer, grabbing his messenger bag, and traveling downstairs to pull on his shoes. "You're going out?" Sachiko called from the kitchen. "Bring your jacket. I'm going out to go grocery shopping so I won't be able to give you a ride home."

"I'm getting my jacket," Light replied loudly. "I can get a taxi." Sometimes it seemed as if his mother forgot he was a grown man. Well, he couldn't blame her. He was _still _living in the damned house even though he had a college degree, even though he should have no problem getting a job. He left quickly, pulling up the collar of his jacket and enduring the slight drizzle that spattered uncomfortably on the skin of his face.

-

-

-

Light's forecast had come true. The rain was pelting down steadily, splashing against the pavement and slopping out of gutters. By the time he had reached the Coffee Shop, he was soaked and shivering. He assumed Ryuuzaki was not there. But the odd thing was Ryuuzaki _was_ there. In fact he was standing outside the door of the shop, staring out into the street where the occasional car slid slowly by, windshield wipers working furiously. Light stopped, trying to raise his voice over the pattering of raindrops.

"What are you doing out here, Ryuuzaki?"

L's eyes flicked from their pensive staring over towards Light. He held up a hand to his ear, signaling that he couldn't hear the young photographer. Light cleared his throat and raised a hand up towards his lips in an attempt to amplify his voice. "What are you doing out here, Ryuuzaki?" he repeated. Ryuuzaki held up his hand again, a strange smile forming on his face. Light was taken aback for a moment, lowering his hand and making a small noise of incredulity. He stalked closer to the sopping, dark-haired male, holding up his hand in a vain attempt to keep his eyes and face from the rain. He approached the solitary Ryuuzaki, making his way down the sidewalk and keeping his hand aloft to cover his face.

"What are you doing, Ryuuzaki?" Light asked once he was within earshot.

Ryuuzaki glanced at a car that drove by, its headlights cutting through the grey of the atmosphere. "Ah, it's nothing worth mentioning," he said slowly, keeping his eyes fixated on the street. Light swiveled his head towards the Coffee Shop, squinting to read the sign that bore the words "CLOSED". He frowned.

"Come on; let's get out of the rain."

Ryuuzaki glanced up, his hands planted in the pockets of his saturated jeans, and then he glanced back down.

"Come on," Light urged, reaching out and wrapping a hand around Ryuuzaki's upper arm. He didn't resist as Light towed him along through the downpour.

-

-

-

The two approached Light's home. Just as he had expected, there was no car in the driveway. His mother had been true to her word and was grocery shopping. It was a weekday; his sister would not be home for another four hours. The rain all but stopped, the sheen of grey that obscured the sun beginning to crack and allow the light to slip through. Ryuuzaki trailed slowly behind Light, walking with his usual hunch. His white shirt was sopping wet, everything visible through the now-see-through fabric. His jeans made horrible squelching noises with each step.

Light reached into his pocket, pushing his numb fingers through the wet cavern until he located his keys. He unlocked the door and pushed it inward. The two trekked silently inside. "That was quite an ordeal, wasn't it?" Ryuuzaki said as Light rummaged about for towels. He found two fluffy white ones in the closet.

"It's all your fault for being out in that downpour," Light replied, handing one towel to Ryuuzaki and using the other to mop up some of the moisture from his brown hair. He beckoned the man upstairs. Ryuuzaki followed.

"True. I'm sorry," Ryuuzaki intoned as they made their way up the stairs. Light hooked a right and made his way into his room. Ryuuzaki followed, placing the towel on top of his mass of dark hair. The brunette sat down on his bed, continuing to mop up his hair and around his shoulders. He mumbled something inaudible to himself, closed his eyes, and then began to wipe at his face with the fluffy bolt of cotton.

"What are you doing Ryuuzaki?" Light suddenly said, breaking the silence. He glanced down at the pale man who was squatting at his feet. Ryuuzaki must have moved whilst his eyes were closed, Light figured. But the photographer couldn't exactly fathom why Ryuuzaki was clutching onto his foot. The squatting man glanced up innocently before replying.

"I thought I'd help. You seem to be drying yourself with quite some fervor."

Light gave him an unconvinced stare. "It's fine, you don't have to do something like that."

"I'll throw in a massage?" Ryuuzaki cocked his head, dark eyes continuously peering up at Light. The brunette shifted uncomfortably. "At least allow me to atone for this. I'm not all that bad at it, you know."

Light glanced away, replying with obvious reluctance to his tone. "Do as you please."

"Okay." Light made a small noise as Ryuuzaki ran the towel against the bottom of his foot. Once more the man glanced up with that dark, obtrusive gaze. Light gave him another reluctant stare. "You'll get used to it quickly," Ryuuzaki confided. The photographer continued shift, less and less as time passed.

_Plop. Plop._

Light glanced down at the droplets that had slid from Ryuuzaki nest of dark hair onto his foot. He reached for his own towel, and for some inexplicable reason, wiped the waterlogged, tangled tresses. "You're still wet," Light said softly.

"Sorry…"

Light watched Ryuuzaki carefully rub his feet through half-lidded eyes, the light beginning to stream in through the glass doors parallel to them. It gave everything an ethereal glow_._ "Ryuuzaki…" Light said slowly, as though he was being purposefully decisive about his choice of words. "Could you stand over there for me?" Ryuuzaki's stare was suspicious, but he complied.

Light went into his desk, rummaging through his things. He drew out a camera.

"Could you take off your shirt?"

Ryuuzaki glanced over his shoulder, as if he was trying to figure some great mathematical equation.

"I told you—"

"Shut up," Light said absently but not unkindly. He was pacing around Ryuuzaki who stood adjacent to the glass doors. "Take your shirt off," he repeated, using that same absent tone of voice. And strangely enough Ryuuzaki also complied with this request and began—the cause of his obedience without rational explanation—peeling off the wet layer that clung to his skin. His pale skin was perfect, white, and unblemished in the light. Light raised the camera to his eye. "Push your hair back a little," Light said in an absorbed voice. Ryuuzaki gave him a confused stare.

Light rolled his eyes and approached Ryuuzaki. The photographer's clever fingertips delicately brushed back the wet, dark hair, smoothing it back to the nape of Ryuuzaki's neck. The two gave each other deadpanned stares, similar to the one they had shared just a short while ago, across from each other in the Coffee Shop. Light stepped back.

"Tilt your body…just like that…look outside, hands in your pockets…"

_Click. _

_Click. _

_Click. _

"Perfect…" Light breathed to himself. "Move onto the bed." Ryuuzaki shuffled over to the bed, taking a seat on it stiffly. "Lay back, be more fluid." He complied, lying back. Light approached, brandishing the camera. Closer, closer…he held the camera up to his eye.

_Click. _

_Click._

"Spread your legs a little…"

Light was now standing at the end of the bed, his knees knocking against the wood of the frame. The camera was still occupying the place over his eye. The other eye was closed tightly shut. The photographer continued to advance despite the obstacle of the bed. He swung a leg over the frame and onto the mattress, climbing onto his knees and inching forward with each shot he took. 

_Click. _

Light lowered the camera, feeling his fingers tingle with creativity. The next moment was overcome with a rush of realization. Light was crouched on his knees, towering over Ryuuzaki who lay flat on his back. The photographer had progressed obscenely close to him whilst he had been snapping pictures.

Ryuuzaki gazed up at him with that signature blank stare.

Dear God, Light hated that stare. Especially now, with the stark contrast of those grey orbs to his skin, which was pale and opalescent in the steady current of light beaming in through the glass doors. Light set down the camera softly on the side of the bed, leaning forward, keeping his eyes locked with those dark ones. They still remained emotionless as ever.

"Does this mean I get to take pictures of you now?" Light whispered, his breath fanning across Ryuuzaki's face, the ghost of a grin gracing his lips. Ryuuzaki blinked.

"If you kindly remove yourself from the bed."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll have to take possession of your camera."

"You wouldn't," Light frowned.

"Would I?" Ryuuzaki tried to make a move to slip off the side of the bed. Light pinned him down, his hands latching firmly onto his arms. "You can't keep me here."

Light gave him a dark smile before imitating him. "Can I?"

Ryuuzaki leaned forward. "No," he said firmly.

Light copied this. "Yes."

"N—

Ryuuzaki was cut off. His eyes widened for a moment at the sudden mouth over his, causing him to lapse into forced silence. "Yes." Light drew back. "I win."

-

-

-

_Am I allowed to steal a scene from the anime and twist it for my own ends? No clue, but I just did._

_Thank you for all the reviews :) I'm going on vacation tomorrow. I won't be able to write until I get back on Friday, hope this sates you until then. _


	8. Shot

Light Yagami was a man of excess.

Everything came in exponentially large amounts, teeming over the edges and pouring through the cracks. As a young child, he began to realize the mental capacity he held and soon after taught himself how to utilize it. He had an honest face, a good-looking one, a convincing smile and a comforting laugh. It was almost as if he had finely tuned himself whilst he was developing inside the womb for his own future endeavors. Everything about him was designed specifically to draw someone in, to comfort them even in the company of lies, and mostly to get away with whatever he could. Hence everything came in prodigious amounts. Sexual partners, money, good-fortune, friends, opportunities.

The thing was that with all this excess, all this extra, things became boring. There was nothing to aspire to. No goal to reach that required a high jump to touch, or an aspiration so far off in the distance it called for a run of endurance. He could take a step and it was as if the gold at the bottom of the seemingly never-ending rainbow would bang almost accidentally against his ankles. Almost, but not quite, Light was too finely tuned a human being to endorse the concept of an "accident". Things happened because they were meant to. A lazy, overweight man keels over and dies of heart failure. That wasn't an accident, it was inevitable. A jaywalking man is struck by a car and dies, it wasn't an accident, he should've looked left then right, else he would still be breathing. Was it jaded? Yes, it was. Was it truth? At least for Light Yagami it was.

Light Yagami was a man of excess.

He had more than any man could want, and it was still not enough. He had his looks, his mind, his articulate, well-brought-up manner, his college degree, his family. But that wasn't nearly enough. Was it greedy? Light didn't think so. It wasn't greed that drove him but the aspiration for something beyond the mundane. It was a stretching desire for something that transcended the norm and set him apart. It was what moved the race of man forward, not greed. Wanting more was the desire for industrialization and a fast-paced rate of change in a fast-paced, modernizing world. He was moving with the times, he told himself. Not greed, at least not to Light.

Light Yagami was a man of excess.

And with the topic of "excess" being thrown out so freely and used so often, it raises the question: when is "excess" going to transform into "too much"? When is it going to be simply _too much_? Light Yagami saw no boundaries, he never saw "too much". He saw what more there was to fix, what wrongs needed to be righted. He saw excess, but he never once saw "too much". This simple question never seemed to float across his tunnel-like vision.

But not that Light cared about any of this; in fact he didn't give a damn about any of this. At the moment, the thing that he gave a damn about was Ryuuzaki…no that came out wrong. He didn't _care _for Ryuuzaki in that sense, he only cared about the effect it was having on his psyche, because god knows the toll the bastard was taking on it. Light wasn't keen on admitting that something was bothering him to such magnitude, but it was time to set that aside and sort the matter out, to give himself some mental peace. He needed that peace now as he readied himself for his risky escapade.

The answer was science.

_Science? That of all things? _

Yes, science, an equation, simple mathematics. He wanted something that wasn't particularly easy to obtain, he wanted a game to play, something worthwhile. He wanted, in short, a puzzle. Ryuuzaki was mysterious and elusive; acting evasive whenever questioned about his past or his origins and quite clearly was not another fool that would be lured in by Light's charm. When Light invited Ryuuzaki in, tried to make him feel comfortable, Ryuuzaki remained unconvinced. When Light attempted to get what he wanted, he was rejected time and time again.

It was simple mathematics, it was logistics, it was _science._

It was _not _emotional nor was it physical like many people would claim. It was an equation that took on the appearance of something complicated, but instead it was painfully simple. He wanted what he couldn't have, which was very little these days. Ryuuzaki was what he couldn't have. He couldn't have his photo, he couldn't have dominion over their strange not-quite-a-friend relationship, he couldn't have it all, he couldn't have _excess. _When it came to Ryuuzaki he had the bare minimum, and it frustrated him. So he pointed the finger at science, at logic. Not at what the average person referred to as "attraction".

Light mulled this over in his head, pacing about his bedroom and looking at the clock. The incendiary glow of his digital clock glared out at him with angry red pixels. His eyes flicked from the reddish aura of the digits to the window. He had the shades drawn shut, making sure to block out unwanted eyes and prying stares. He approached the shades and used his fingers to push the shades apart and glance out. All that was distinguishable was the darkness of extremely early morning; but based on the weather forecast the clouds had drifted back over the sun. Yesterday it had been raining, then it had cleared, and finally the clouds drifted back once more. How appropriate, Light thought with a small mental sneer. His bare toes curled with some malice against the carpet of the floor.

He donned a pair of loose-fitting boxers, pacing about at an obscene time of day. He had gone to sleep at 10 P.M. after a good two hours of turning, slept until 1:30 A.M. and then rose to the sound of the beeping of his alarm. He had to leave at 2:30 A.M.

Dressing was a somber experience executed in silence. He picked a bland grey suit to match with the weather, selecting a tie that was unremarkable as the entire ensemble. His expression mirrored his dress, somber and blank.

"_No, you do not win," Ryuuzaki voiced. "You expect me to bend?"_

_Light recoiled slightly. "And if I do?" _

"_You suffer from a condition called an enlarged ego and sense of entitlement. There is only one particular treatment… that is to be injected with a dose of humility Unfortunately, I expect you to relapse, Light-kun. So I must show you humility."_

"_And you're the person to give me said humility?" Light said with a sneer in his tone. He retreated from his position directly atop Ryuuzaki and began to wipe his lips as if he had tasted something foul. _

"_Yes, yes I am."_

"_And what makes you assume that," Light said hotly as he got to his feet and backed away from the bed, "I would give this diagnosis any merit? Especially since you seem to suffer from the same precise ailment."_

Light dug through his possessions and pulled out a video camcorder. He shoved that into his messenger bag after pulling out his bulky camera. The one-eyed black monster stared him down as he placed it on his desk. Light turned away with a grimace and continued to prepare. He roughly took out the false bottom to his drawer, a noticeable absence of his usual finesse and precision. He needed to breathe, to calm down. He couldn't afford to have his mind on Ryuuzaki; it was a time when he required a calm head and a cool sense of judgment.

He tucked the ID into the pocket of his grey suit jacket, feeling his fingers tingle with a strange sort of anticipation against the cool plastic.

"_Yes, I do," Ryuuzaki confessed, fixing his unblinking eyes on Light. "I am as much of an egoist as you."_

_Light seemed taken aback by this sudden confession. What had prompted him to say something like that? And out of the blue, so straightforward with this reply. He could have easily denied the accusation but instead accepted it with a neutral shrug. "Therefore I am the only one to put you in your place," Ryuuzaki admonished with a tone of finality. "You think that a kiss will seal the deal for you? That I'll fall across your lap like a pathetic schoolgirl? That you will woo me like you have so many others in pursuit of your own ends? No, I'm afraid not. My answer still stands." _

Light's shiny black shoes squelched and squealed with each step down the stairs. The quiet suburban house was still and lifeless as death itself. The reason being that it was nearly 2 A.M. at the moment; any normal family would be sleeping and gathering their respectable eight hour rests for the following day. Light, however, had other plans, ones which did not include a normal suburban schedule and a respectable eight hours of rest.

He was not hungry but at the same time not full. His pallet was bland as his outfit, the weather, and his mood, but he denied placing anything upon his tongue. Instead he gathered up his belongings, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and began recounting over the checklist in his mind. It was curiously reminiscent of his everyday schedule when he would go out to the Coffee Shop to meet his familiar not-quite-a-friend, Ryuuzaki. He felt like giving a darkly satirical smile but restrained it. With each step that brought him closer to the door, more mental unrest followed. He had never had to deal with something like that before. Never had his mind so undeniably distracted an unable to come back on course. He paused in front of the door. This was where Ryuuzaki had stormed out. That was the handle he had twisted open. That was the frame along which the door slammed back on. That was the doormat on which his ratty trainers dragged along. Those were the front steps he had shuffled down. That was the sidewalk he had trekked along.

These thoughts were trivial, unimportant. Light would be lucky if that was the last trace of Ryuuzaki he would ever see. Taking one steadying breath, clearing his mind, he then walked out the door into the darkness of the early morning, floating like the grayish shadow of what was once a vibrant person. His polished, well-dressed, and completely unremarkable self shuffled under the streetlights with his hands tucked in his pockets.

Light was sure this was the path Ryuuzaki had taken.

"_Get out." _

"_And you brush the issue away like that?" Ryuuzaki asked, talking as if he was grateful for the words to be free from his mouth and off of his tongue. _

"_Get out." _

"_I see," Ryuuzaki frowned at Light's expression. It was one of livid anger and also a certain degree of impassive, headstrong disbelief. "So you are as childish as I thought."_

"_I said: get out," Light spoke as if this was the last time that he would demand this._

"_I see," Ryuuzaki repeated, moving to gather up his things and disappear out the door to Light's room. The photographer listened to his footsteps, watching his hunched back turn the corner and travel down the stairs. The sound of the door was the last noise._

There was hardly anyone outside the hospital by the time the sun had decided to show its face. Sunlight was beginning to peek across the skyline, causing the asphalt and buildings to glisten as if they were something beautiful and not some horrid metal concoction of man. Posing as something beautiful, Light decided to himself. It wasn't often that he was even awake to catch the sunrise. During High School and College he had found it imperative to get enough sleep to keep his mind sharp and clear. This behavior carried over into his life after schooling, disrupted slightly by his brief stint with the NPA, but the habit not shaken off entirely.

The sunrise was beautiful, if it hadn't been as obscured by buildings and obstacles, it would have been spectacular. The way the warm orange hue of the sky reflected against the puddles left from the rainstorm was enchanting. However wasn't even half over the horizon before Light noticed the clouds that were beginning to settle across the sky, taking their place over the rising orange sphere. Small, fiercely rebellious beams of light attempted to get around the thick grey clouds that were advancing, pushed on by the cold wind. They were quickly smothered and promptly flickered out, leaving the grey atmosphere dominating again. Light was careful in how he approached the hospital. He wanted to make sure there were no changes in the schedule he had meticulously organized, this called for him getting close enough to see them but not so close for them to see him. He was duly pleased to find that their schedule hadn't shifted. Clipping on the false ID, he walked briskly towards the front entrance with his back straight and his head high.

The man at the entrance looked tired. Everything about him seemed weary. His posture was slumped, his uniform was ruffled, and his hands were hanging listlessly at his sides. However he stiffened once his dark eyes locked onto the approaching man, his hand moving ever so slightly towards the gun mounted on his belt. Light held his hands up as he approached, smiling and nodding his head as if to assure he meant no harm. The man still looked unconvinced with his hand hovering around his gun. "It's alright," Light said smoothly, approaching so he was at a friendly distance without imposing on his personal space. "You look exhausted," Light's tone was light and conversational. He gestured his head to the ID clipped onto his suit coat pocket.

The man eyed him suspiciously. "I've been on duty for a while…Yuki," he replied uncertainly. His eyes flicked up from the ID to the seemingly honest and smiling face of Light, now dubbed "Yuki" by the false name on his ID. "Do I know you?"

"I'm afraid not," Light said with a small smile "I'm here on business, it's urgent," The photographer let his tone drop into one of utter graveness.

"I don't think I've seen you…are you with the NPA?" he asked, glancing once more at the ID that protruded from Light's pocket.

"Not exactly," Light said, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. This had to be one of the most convincing of his actions. Probably based on the fact that, _A: _he was anxious Ide would show his face. _B: _he was anxious that some ex-coworker of his (or perhaps even his father) would poke their head through the front doors of the hospital and _C: _he was anxious because he knew this man was no idiot and convincing him wouldn't be simple, but at the same time it wouldn't be as hard as convincing someone like Ryuuzaki. His partner who was on shift with him inclined his head as if asking if the man needed help. He waved him off, signaling that he could handle it by himself.

"Not exactly?" the man questioned, peering over Light's shoulder to see if he was looking so anxiously at something in particular.

"You seem like an honest guy," Light said, making sure a frown was planted on his features, "can you keep a secret?"

The man quirked an eyebrow.

The brunette shuffled forward several steps as if he was about to whisper a great secret in his ear, like they were girls on a playground. "Do you know who the head of this investigation is?" Light whispered.

"Hm…of course," the man said, continuing to let his hand linger around his gun that sat dutifully on his hip.

"What if I told you I was working with him?"

The man looked taken aback for a moment but quickly regained his composure. "I don't remember ever seeing you."

"That's because I'm not an NPA member," Light smiled, "because the investigation isn't headed by the NPA." The man stared blankly at him. "I am in direct contact with him, and I am his eyes and his ears, posing as an NPA member."

Disbelief swept across the man's features. There was no way he would know that L was heading the investigation unless he was either in direct contact with L or was working with the NPA. He knew everyone in the NPA; he was clearly not an employee. There was only one other clear explanation on how he came to such information. "I can let you talk to him if you like," Light said, his eyes flashing from the man's face to his pocket. He reached down and into his pockets, purposely fumbling around for a minute. He retrieved a cell phone. "If it would make you feel more comfortable. But it's imperative I'm allowed past this point." The brunette held out the phone. He was waiting to see if the man would call his bluff.

The man waited, the expression on his face clearly stating that he was in a moment of deep decision-making. "I'm not supposed to be sharing this information, that's why I've come here so early," Light confided, dimming his voice to a lowly sound. "But the offer still stands," he brandished the phone.

The man stepped aside. "Alright, Yuki," he said in a fatigued voice. "Thirty minutes, that's all."

"Thank you," Light said, holding back the cruelly victorious smile that threatened to tear across his features. His shiny black shoes tapped against the floor as he replaced his cell phone and pushed his way through the revolving doors. Inside it was quiet, there were a few nurses that meandered about but for the most part it was empty. Light gave several dashing smiles to the young nurses that passed him as he traveled through the halls. Most of them offered back a much more timid smile, nodding their head and carrying on. Not one questioned his presence, as expected. He looked as if he belonged, people didn't question what belonged. The brunette was already aware of where Misa Amane's room was, he had hacked into his Father's police files and pinpointed her location.

Third floor up, room twelve

The elevator could not move fast enough. Light had been careful to avoid any unnecessary contact, the last thing he needed was to run into someone like Matsuda or Aizawa. His cover would be blown and the entire thing gone to hell in a matter of moments. This was a tenuous balancing act, which became clearer with each passing moment. It seemed as if it was a question of _when _gravity would finally decide to yank him from his cable and onto the hard ground. For now he seemed to be doing alright, still suspended in midair on that thin little wire.

Third floor.

_Ding. _

The elevator signaled his arrival with its small customary noise. Light felt mouth twitch with a hint of victory so close he could nearly taste it. Even though his gait was controlled as he strode from the elevator, he could already feel satisfaction of reaching his own goal slip intoxicatingly through his veins. It combined with adrenaline to create a pleasing mixture in his senses, sending stimulants up to his brain. He was rounding the corner, he was nearly there. He was almost there.

He was turning the doorknob; he was pressing the door inward. He was there.

_STOP._

Everything stopped. Light would claim that even his own heartbeat halted for just the slightest moment before sliding back in synch. His blood came to sudden stop, his legs became planted as if roots kept his feet tethered to the ground, and his expression froze. His hand was still clutching the doorknob; his body was wedged halfway into the room. There was no way…no way…There was no way that was Ryuuzaki. There was no way it was _Ryuuzaki_ of all peoplewho sat crouched over Misa Amane's bed. Was it Light's head? Was it sleep deprivation that was causing delusions? What was it? Goddamn, there needed to be some sort of explanation.

"Oh…Light-kun," nonchalant as ever, "quite a coincidence seeing you here."


	9. Hit

Light was dead silent.

"Oh forgive me…" Ryuuzaki squinted, "Yuki-kun." Light self-consciously snatched the ID from his breast pockets and shoved it roughly into the pocket of his slacks. Ryuuzaki gave him a somewhat foreboding smile, to which Light replied with (once more) dead silence. He could hardly think of anything witty to say to get him out of this situation. He hadn't meditated (it hadn't even crossed his mind) on something like _this _occurring. In fact this was such a shock that Light was still trying to find reasons that proved this was _not_ reality. He only came up with a few, rather weak instances. Instance 1: he was asleep. That was quickly thrown out of the equation due to the dull throbbing in his gut, sending painful wracks of anxiety through his veins. This anxiety was quickly met with the internal demand to relax. Not to mention that his fingernails were driving painful red half-moons into his palms. Instance 2: he was hallucinating. Light refused to accept this one to be true. First of all because had no issues with his mind (at least he thought this) and second of all because the last thing he would be hallucinating about would be _Ryuuzaki. _What would compel his own mind to conjure images of _Ryuuzaki_?

All in all, he found these excuses to be very inconclusive. As a result, he stood there in dead silence, the muteness of it all weighing testily on the atmosphere. In his fretful musing, Light had nearly forgotten the quiet, blonde girl that lay silently on the bed between the two. "The boy who has so much to say is suddenly silent," Ryuuzaki said softly, his chin lifting and his beetle-black eyes zeroing in. They settled thoughtfully on Light's stony face. "And why might this be?"

"Why bother ask?" Light managed to say, trying to keep his tone apathetic. It came out rather strange-sounding despite his conscious effort.

"Why, indeed," Ryuuzaki responded vaguely. "We're being rude to Miss Amane though, Yuki-kun."

"_Stop_ calling me that."

"So it's not your name?"

Light grimaced. He couldn't let his tongue wander for even a second with this man. He had to be sharp and focus on preciseness of language, keeping his diction astute and clear so that he might escape with his pride still left intact. "No, it's not," he confessed, not bothering to deny the claim. It was already horribly apparent as an alias.

"Then why, Yuki-kun, do you bother strolling into the hospital. And happen to wander straight into Miss Amane's room? I'd be fascinated to hear how you managed to slide past the guards, who are quite vigilant. Also your avoidance of any questioning as you traveled the hospital floors."

"Stop _calling me that_," Light said irritably. "And I have a perfectly good explanation for being here. First off, this is a public building. Second, I am in possession of a private detective license."

"This is a public building, but when an occupant is threatened, steps must be taken to ensure her safety. You're intelligent, Yuki-kun. You read the newspaper? Watch the news? How the lockdown on the hospital escaped your knowledge is beyond me. And it seems you're also in possession of an NPA Identification Card along with your license," Ryuuzaki gave him a blank look, but the glint in his obsidian eyes told the photographer that the pale man was taking much enjoyment is purposely prodding Light's nerves. He was playing games, word games and mind games. And he continued to use "Yuki" despite Light's previous admittance that it was _not_ his name, and adding on that. "Come, have a seat," he gestured to the chair that sat on the opposite side of the bed. "We are being continually rude to Miss Amane."

Light frowned deeply, but saw no escape. Also the reason for him being here in the first place was laying there before him. To stop now would be a waste. What was a game without a few risks? He approached calmly and seated himself, his brown eyes flicking from Ryuuzaki to Amane. The girl's vibrant blue eyes were open, glancing back at the two men, obviously perplexed by their words. Her clear cobalt pools turned to stare at Light and settle there.

"Miss Amane," Ryuuzaki intoned, leaning forward from his bird-like perch on the rickety chair. "Forgive me for neglecting you so long." He cast a deeply sympathetic look upon the silent blond. Light sighed at his theatrics and went to brush loose strands of hair from his forehead. In a split second Ryuuzaki had snatched up his hand. The dark-haired man twisted his arm so the palm was in clear view. The red crescents came into sight. "Nervous?"

"No," Light replied tersely, "just a bad habit." Lie. Light Yagami had few "bad" habits that had manifested during his lifetime. No oral fixations, he didn't bite his fingernails, twirl his hair, tap his fingers, or bob his knee up and down. He did lie, but this went unnoticed the majority of the time. He was very good at it of he had a fixation with it; very, very good at it. Ryuuzaki seemed to sense this, his stare completely unconvinced.

"Miss Amane, if you do not feel comfortable speaking, that's fine. If you can, answer these simple questions with nods, blinks, or expressions. You've undergone quite a bit of trauma."

Ryuuzaki attention rapidly changed to the model. "Now if you please, could you try and describe the height of the man? Tall, like Light, average, like myself, or short, like yourself. Close your eyes if he's short." Misa's blue eyes swiveled over to Light and lingered there. "Tall?" Ryuuzaki asked. Her head gave a weak bob. "I see. Now if you please, what color hair? Brown, like Light's, Black, like my own, blonde like yours. Shake your head for red or any other colors."

Misa's eyes turned once more on Light, who gave a small, unnoticeable flinch. The judgment of her weak, vulnerable eyes was surprisingly strong.

"Handsome, like Light over here, or unattractive, like myself?"

Once more on Light.

"Do you think you could show me how he was dressed? Casually? Formally?"

Misa closed her eyes for a moment, clearly in thought. She was pulling up painful memories in order to identify the killer. Then with some uncertainty, her eyes settled upon Light. "A suit?" Ryuuzaki leaned forward. She gave a small twitch of a nod. Light pinched the bridge of the nose. This was utterly ridiculous; he was clearly _not _the Casanova Killer.

"A twist in the story that not even the respectable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle could've written," Ryuuzaki said, a mischevious glint in his beetle-black eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes was ficitional," Light said hotly, "this is reality. And it has nothing to do with mystery novelists. This is ridiculous." Light got to his feet, shiny black shoes slapping angrily against the linoleum flooring.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

Light spun around on his heel. "Do you have any idea how many men fit the description of tall with brown hair and dressed in a suit? Have you ever walked down the street, seen how many?" he spat. "You can't detain me, I don't even know why you're here, and since when do you have the authority to do that?"

Ryuuzaki observed him quietly.

"I'll make you a deal," Light said softly, "how about you explain this situation to me, and then I'll stay as long as you want me to. Why are you here? Why are you questioning Misa Amane? And why the _hell _do you think you can stop me from walking out of this building?"

"It's not myself, precisely," Ryuuzaki said, speaking each word slowly and deliberately. "But the fact that NPA are all over the place. With one little shout I could get two or three running, pulling out their guns. And if I'm not mistaken, it would be most humiliating to be caught again by your coworkers." Light's jaw stiffened.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes," he replied simply before digging into his pocket. He drew out a red cellphone. "Excuse me for a moment, I have to take a call." Ryuuzaki dialed delicately after flipping the phone open and proceeded to wait for whoever he was calling to pick up. Light was astounded by the sudden respite from threats and suspicion. "Yes, thank you…send him in…" Ryuuzaki talked serenly into the phone. After the brief conversation he closed up the phone and lowered it into his jeans pocket.

"I'm leaving," Light decided firmly, stalking determindly towards the doorway. Before he could turn the handle, the door swung abruptly open and nearly knocked Light to the ground. Instead it thudded against his chest and caused him to take several steps back.

"I'm here, L—Oh," Matusda peered around the corner. The small, eager-to-please smile sank from him face. "…Light?" he said in a small, disbelieving voice.

"Matsuda, you idiot," Ryuuzaki said with obvious exasperation. There was a moment of undeniably awkward silence, interruped only by the small beeping of Misa's monitors. "Matsuda…" Ryuuzaki spoke softly but there was a foreboding order in his words, "I want you walk out of the room and shut the door quietly behind you. Get some _coffee _please."

By now Matsuda face was drained of color, his paleness on par with that of Ryuuzaki's. "Of course, uh, Ryuuzaki…" Matsuda said in a tiny voice, backing up towards the door. His hand fumbled blindly with the doorknob for a moment before it latched on. The door shut quietly behind him.

"_I'm here, L—Oh,"_

Light was still processing the significance of that statement.

"The chance of you being the Casanova Killer is astronomically low…" Ryuuzaki continued, placing his thumb to his bottom lip. "But that makes it all the more interesting, doesn't it?." His statement was punctuated by the door flinging open and several men filing in. They were all clothed in suits and brandishing guns. Light nearly choked at the sight of Aizawa, Ide, Matsuda, Mogi, and his own father.

"Hands up!"

Light took a step back.

"Now!"

With a small, hateful smile planted cruelly on his features, Light slowly raised his arms.

_-_

_-_

_-_

This had to be one of the most humilitating moments in Light Yagami's life. It couldn't even compare to his own trial. At least he had been sitting behind that table with a sense of pride, knowing that he was right. Knowing that he was facing a judge with his morals still intact. But this was just ridiculous.

Because it was beyond Light how any human being could enjoy being handcuffed to a chair and treated like a serial killer.

"Come on Dad, you know this is ridiculous," Light said, twisting his hand and listening to the jangling of the handcuff. Brown eyes settled imploringly upon Soichiro. Soichiro looked to Ryuuzaki, who was standing with his back unnaturally hunched. The pale man was silent. The police chief gave his son a regretful frown. "Matsuda," Light said quickly, jerking his head towards the goofy young man. He shuffled uncomfortably in reply to his own name. "You don't honestly think this is right, do you?" Light asked, yanking on his handcuff once more. It clinked softly.

"It is true that there is a very low percentile of you being the Casanova Killer, Light-kun, but all threats must be examined thoroughly. That and the fact that I can't just let you waltz out of here." Ryuuzaki was silent at Light's infuriated expression. "Thanks to Matsuda, I have to think of an alternative." Matsuda hung his head shamefully.

"So are you saying I'm going to have to sit here, chained to this chair?" Light said, disbelief coating his voice.

"I suppose that would be a bit…inhumane…" Ryuuzaki said thoughtfully. "I could leave Matsuda to keep you company." Light made a face. Ryuuzaki then lapsed thoughtfully into silence. He proceeded to draw a small key from his pocket and unlock the handcuff that bound Light to the chair.

"Ryuuzaki, what a— "

"It's fine, Aizawa," Ryuuzaki cut him off cooly. He then replaced the key into his pocket and fastened the manacale around his own wrist. Light cast him an incredulous stare.

"What are you doing?" Light asked, almost afraid to rise from the chair.

"Keeping you company," Ryuuzaki said simply, waving his wrist in the air and then giving the chain a viscious yank. Light had to restrain the small, audible yelp from the sudden tug on his arm.

-

-

-

_Beep._

_Beep. _

With each purchase there was a small noise. The pudgy woman tapped the side of the register impatiently as the man rang up her items. As she waited, she couldn't help but notice that he was impeccably handsome, with a straight nose, straight teeth, and a neatly organized mop of brown hair. Despite his lowly position, he donned a neatly pressed shirt and a red tie. She furrowed her eyebrows, peering closer at his pleasant looking face.

"Will that be all?" he asked quietly. It took a moment for the woman to focus on his words.

"Uh…yes," she replied a litte unsurely. Then she froze. Despite his clean-shaven face and wrinkle-free shirt, there was something terrifying about his eyes. They were dark brown, nearly black in dimmer lighting. The way he stared her down, so coolly. She felt her blood go cold as ice and her heart begin to hammer. She hastened away from him with one glance into those cruel, malicious windows.

"Ma'am," he said in a flat tone, "you forgot your bags." She halted and grudgingly turned around, closer to his watchful eyes. She could feel the weight of his stare as she snatched up her plastic bags and lugged them away as fast as her robust legs could carry her. Let's face it, the woman was clearly not the most intellectual. She was a bit slow and unsuccessful, but despite that she could still perceive the malice emanating from his being.

In her haste, she missed something. If she had taken time to absorb his appearance, she would have noticed the edge of a tattoo peeking up over the collar of his shirt. If she had waited even longer, just enough time to see him bend down, she would have seen the collar of his shirt slide downwards ever so slightly.

It would have revealed the tattoo of a heart emblazoned upon his neck.

**-**

**-**

-

"This is insanity."

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

"Maybe it is and maybe it's not."

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

"_You're_ insane."

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

"Perhaps. But does it take a sane man to break into a hospital and subsequently plan to interrogate a helpless young girl?"

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

"That's not insane. The way you word it is insane. _Ah_…this beeping is infuriating." Light said, trying not to focus on the periodic sound emitting from the monitors. He sat with his arms crossed and his legs spread out. His back was slumped with little dignity against the back of the plastic chair.

"I find it soothing," Ryuuzaki replied, flicking the chain with his fingers and absorbing the metallic noise it made. He did it again in time with the beeping.

"Stop it," Light said with a frown. Ryuuzaki continued despite his protests. It was bad enough that they had to be _handcuffed _together, even worse that he was suspected as the Casanova Killer, which he was _not. _"I said stop it," Light repeated irritably, giving the chain a warning yank.

Ryuuzaki ignored him completely.

Light's face twitched with fury. He inhaled and exhaled to himself for a moment before giving the chain a Herculean tug with both hands. This tug caused for Ryuuzaki to come flying towards Light, who was promptly knocked off his chair by the sudden impact. Ryuuzaki landed face-first into Light's chest. It took the photographer several moments to find his bearings. "Shit…" he cursed lightly, "get off me." He attempted to struggle to his feet (now that his back hurt from the linoluem landing, it made things much more difficult) but was pressed down.

"That was very rude," Ryuuzaki said calmly.

"It was rude of you to continue doing that even though I asked you politely to stop," Light grunted as he tried to push his torso up again.

"You didn't say please."

Light grunted again as he was pushed back down towards the linoluem. "Is this your "dose of humility"?"

"Yes."

"Well…" Light said softly, letting his breathing slow, "I'll have to give you some in return then, won't I?" He mustered up enough energy to push Ryuuzaki over, who collided the chairs. "But you'll have to say _please_."

Ryuuzai was a man who was notorious for showing such little feeling. Light had never once seen him express an extreme in emotion. Never love, sorrow, or anger. The brunet had anticipated that trying to draw it out of him would be impossible. But in fact it was easier than it seemed, because his lips were turned down in a frown and his eyes were furrowed with blatant anger. Not so extreme to the normal population, but extreme for Ryuuzaki. It took the dark-haired man quite a while to get back to his feet, as it was obvious he had knocked quite hard against the chairs. Light glared at him, but it was a knowing glare. Not one of sheer, irrational anger. It was a glare that said: _"I know something I'm not supposed to, and I can very easily use it against you." _

Ryuuzaki got to his feet, standing with his back curved as always. Light had clambered to his feet as well, standing as long as the chain would allow from Ryuuzaki. "You know…" Light said, rolling his head back haughtily. "When I heard Matsuda, I thought he meant something else…I thought maybe he was saying something stupid or thoughtless, or even a code name." He waved his wrist in the air, the chain catching the flourescent light. "But it seems like it's the only way to explain things. Your intelligence, your vague answers. Your control over the NPA, my own father even. Why you're in the hospital with your face bent over Misa Amane. It's the only piece that can finish the puzzle. And now I know your face…not only do I know your face but I know your alias and possess your picture. That's why you can't let me get away or just walk out of here. I'm too much of a _threat."_

"Yes," Ryuuzaki admitted quietly.

"So before you _fuck around with me_, I suggest you think first and use that legendary mind of yours…L."

…

Light howled as a pale, bony foot collided with the expanse of his face. He took several staggered steps backward, clutching his hand to the injured area. Light then sprang on L, figuring that he had a weight advantage. Despite his scrappy proportions, L refused to let Light overtake him. The photographer managed to land one decent fist upon L's cheek before the infamous detective gave him a powerful kick to a tender, shameful area. Light abated for a moment, clutching his privates. Such a low-blow…this guy…And then within mintues, the two were rolling on the ground, pulling hair and clothes, biting and scratching, punching and kicking. Whenever the other got to far, the chain yanked them back and the fighting continued.

Misa Amane continued to drift in medicated sleep.

It took what seemed like hours for someone to notice the haphazard bangs and thuds coming from Misa Amane's room. It was a mircale feat of several NPA members to restrain the two. The photographer and detective bothed huffed for breath, needily trying to get more air into their deprived lungs. Glorious splotches of black and blue were forming on both their faces, and Light was still unconsciously trying to grope for gentials, which were throbbing dully.

The two eyed each other with passion in their eyes.

It wasn't exactly passion of love or of desire, but the passion of loathing. Despite this, there still that fiery desire in their eyes. To make love? Not so much. To throw the other on the ground and hit them? Maybe so.

But there was passion still.


	10. Dancers

* * *

Snowflake dancers pirouetted through the air, spinning to and fro against the grey sky. Rows upon rows of twirling white ladies fell delicately, swaying in time with the soft music of the wind. The sky was their studio, the breeze was their instructor. And they were all equally different and beautiful at the same time. Light Yagami had taken to watching them, his keen brown eyes observing the little ladies as they repeated their routine. The young boy had tried to capture them in his hand, to save the snowflake dancer. Only he had found that they melted soon after touching his skin. It was a pity to watch such a small, beautiful thing disappear, disintegrate into nothingness. But it was a beautiful end, Light had decided. In his young, juvenile mind, he had convinced himself that the death of a snowflake dancer on his palm was a much more merciful than the one it would face if it continued its course to the Earth. If the white lady proceeded downward, she would land on the ground. She would lose her beauty, her originality. Inevitably blending with the white substance packed in a thick layer across the ground. Their tediously-carved and specifically-spun appearance would simply meld with the majority. Then finally, pushed aside and matted down by cars and the feet of children. The pure white snow dancers would be tainted brown with salt, muck, and impure things.

Light Yagami had decided that he would be merciful enough to end them before their uniqueness and beauty was stripped away from them, before they were pressed back into unceremonious, dirty piles on the sides of the street. He would save them. He would smile with each snowflake dancer that melted in his palm. Such pure, white beauty did not deserve to be dirtied. It didn't snow often. Most of the time it occurred in the mountains, and snow in the Kanto Region of Japan tended to be sparse. It was a treat when it did happen, Light was fond of the snow. He didn't like snowball fights or sled races, or any of the childish things that his peers took part in. He much rather would spend his time watching the snowflake dancers, his raw red palms facing up and his head titled to the sky. He enjoyed the dull throb of the cold, the pulsating feeling of the winter chill. There was something satisfying about it. "Light, what are you doing out here? Don't you have any gloves, sweetie?"

"I-I'm…fine…" A shiver.

"Come here…you must be freezing," Sachiko chastised as she zipped his coat up several more inches (nearly choking him) and pulled his hat down. "What happened to your gloves?" she asked, bending down and enveloping his raw hands in her larger ones.

Light looked at her hands and then at her face. "No…"

"Light-kun," she scolded lightly. "You can't just run outside without gloves on! You must be freezing…come here."

"N-no."

"_No?"_ Sachiko smiled. "You silly boy, you should know better. Come on inside, you'll catch death out here." She took several steps through the snow, pausing when she realized that Light wasn't following her. She frowned and trekked back over to her obstinate son. His wide brown eyes were watching the thick grey clouds and the small flakes that continued to fleck the sky. "Come here," she said sweetly, leaning down and placing a hand on his shoulder. Light's shoulder twitched slightly with the touch, but he held his position. "_Are you listening to me?_" she asked. "_Wake up, Light-kun."_ Light stared at Sachiko. "Wake up, sweetie. We need to go inside." A hand jutted out to press against his face. Light groaned slightly, his head lolling back in response. _"Wake up…"_

_

* * *

_

Light's eyes slowly opened. His heavy lids reluctantly parted, and he glanced out through his eyelashes. It was bright, and he closed his eyes defiantly and pressed his head back into the crevice it had been situated in before. "Light-kun, my shoulder is getting sore." The brunet was thrown back into reality with a sudden jolt. It hit him hard, causing his eyes to flash open. He had fallen asleep and subsequently his head had slid over to utilize Ryuuzaki's shoulder as a convenient cushion. The pale hands were on his cheek, trying to rouse him from his slumber. Light immediately snatched his face back, shaking off the cool, pallid finger from his face. "You were mumbling something," Ryuuzaki said as if was obvious, cocking his head. "A dream?"

"Yes," Light answered quickly, twisting his neck to try and soothe the soreness of it. "I can't remember it though," he finished up with a lie. His neck cracked with protest as rolled his head around. It's not that he had anything to hide really, it's just that Light wasn't a fan of sharing personal things. He didn't care for letting the world know of particular details like that, tender little memories from his childhood. And he certainly wasn't about to let Ryuuzaki in on his past, his family, or his dreams for that matter.

"You seemed quite comfortable; unfortunately you have a rather thick, heavy head, so I can't say the same for my shoulder." Light frowned at the insult, but continued to rub his neck therapeutically.

"Can I take this off yet?" Light asked, shaking his wrist. "Trying to sleep like that is doing one hell of a job on my neck."

"For my own personal safety issues, I must decline."

"For _your own personal_ safety issues? If I really wanted to kill you, it would be easy, you're right there, and you couldn't escape when you're chained to me."

"Then you'd be dragging my corpse along with you, most inconvenient, don't you think?"

Light frowned. "It can't honestly be that hard to get off the handcuffs," Light countered dully, squinting his eyes and glancing out the window of the hospital room. "What time is it?"

"2:30 A.M.," Ryuuzaki replied most accurately. Light gave him a quizzical stare.

"Your watch," Ryuuzaki replied. "It's a rather nice one." Light had nearly forgotten about the designer silver watch that was fastened around his wrist. The little numbers were hardly visible in the dim light, it was a wonder how Ryuuzaki had been able to accurately pick out the time from his vantage point. Then again, he was L. That epiphany was still hard to fathom for photographer. The Ryuuzaki that consumed obscene amounts of sweets, was known for his underhanded comments, and sat across from him at the Coffee Shop everyday was the L. His respect for the legendary detective was waning at a rather rapid pace.

He seemed like a complete…freak, a misfit. Light had always had images of a well-put-together, astute detective that was known to the world as "L". He had always pictured the man as orderly, meticulous, and intellectually adorned as his reputation preceded him. But he was the complete and total opposite. It was mind-boggling. Never judge a book by its cover, Light thought dimly of the saying. Only by its contents, he added silently to himself, watching as Ryuuzaki nibbled on his thumbnail.

* * *

The call came in around 5:30 A.M. that morning. The time wasn't surprising; it was about the hour when everyone dragged themselves from bed in order to get ready for work, irritably awoken by their beeping alarms. The call they had received was frantic. _"Help! Oh my God! She's dead! Oh my God!"_

"_Please calm down, ma'am."_

"_I need help! Please! Jesus Christ, please send someone! She's dead!"_

"_Please try and take a breath, ma'am, can you tell me who it is?"_

"_Takada! My poor Takada!"_

"_Takada?"_

"_Yes! Oh my God…there's blood everywhere…" Hysterical sobs._

"_It's important you don't touch the body, ma'am. I'm sending help right now."_

But she did touch the body. The police and barged in on the woman cradling the limp life form in her arms. Her neat white blouse was soaked with blood as she clung helplessly to the motionless woman sprawled unnaturally on the floor. The uniforms had to pry her away, her blood and tear-stained face contorted with the agony of disbelief and loss. The paramedics had pronounced Kiyomi Takada dead after checking her vital signs. It wasn't even worth the bother of attempting resuscitation, she was clearly gone already. Knife wounds lined her body; she had died from blood loss. And of course, there was the heart carved carefully into the flesh of her neck. It was eerily reminiscent of the all the other murders, there were several deciduous factors that pointed the murder to the same perpetrator. The heart, the lack of footprints, fingerprints, and the meticulous care to make sure the scene was clear and that no one had heard the murder. There was only one difference, however. It pasted on the missing piece that had been absent to the police until then. There was a gun. Yes, a gun. A shiny and malicious-looking monster, sprawled innocently in the corner of the room. It looked like someone had oh-so-nonchalantly left it behind, as if it wasn't an integral part of the evidence pertaining to the crime. It was almost too easy. Almost too obvious as the police sealed it in a sterile plastic bag and led out the hysterical woman. But at that point, no one was about to argue with any evidence at all.

* * *

"W-what?" Light said his body recoiling as the detective yanked him along. His confusion was quickly replaced with hungry curiosity. "What's going on?" Ryuuzaki was busy replacing his cell phone into the ample storage-space of his pocket. So he blatantly ignored the peeved brunet's demand. Light frowned at this and began to dig his heels into the ground in an attempt not to be dragged along. "If I'm chained to you, I'm going to find out sooner or later what you're dragging me towards."

"Quite right," Ryuuzaki replied. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." Light's placid frown cemented onto his features, finally allowing himself to be tugged on a path to God-knows-where. Actually, they were only traveling a couple doors down the hall to the elevator. Ryuuzaki paused at the buttons outside the doors, his pointer finger jabbing out awkwardly to spear the down arrow. It illuminated as the idle elevator hurried to accommodate the waiting pair. Light tapped his foot and Ryuuzaki continued to stand in hunched silence. Ding. The elevator doors slid open. Ryuuzaki stalked inside with Light following tentatively behind him. The pale detective then shuffled through his pockets, finally drawing out a small key. What the hell else was in his pockets? Light was eager to know, but at the same time didn't really want to know. After inserting the key into its designated hole and pressing the button marked "BASEMENT", it began to descend

The silence of the elevator was filled with the soft hum of classical music. "Debussy?"

Light's head flicked towards Ryuuzaki, who stood slouched with his hands tucked loosely in his pockets. The brunet was taken aback for a moment, as he had been thinking the precise thing just then. That uncanny knack for apparent mind-reading was once more making Light duly uncomfortable. "I was just thinking that," Light replied with a flourish of his hand. He then stuck it into his pocket, mimicking the detective. So he was cultured in something other than desserts?

"Yes, I do listen to classical," Ryuuzaki said with a small smile, as if he could sense the small amount of disbelief in Light's tone. Light gave him a stiff stare.

"I can see that."

Silence.

_Ding._

"Here we are," Ryuuzaki said, the doors sliding open. Light Yagami's disbelief at what the doors opened to distracted him from L's cryptic smile. About ten heads turned all at once to stare at the elevator. They were all Police, all men that Light knew. Ide, Mogi, Aizawa, Matsuda, and his own father among others.

"Good morning," Ryuuzaki replied, stalking forward and tugging the stationary Light along with him. It was about 2:45 A.M., so "good morning" was cruelly accurate. The young man noticed the dark circles under all of their eyes after glancing at his watch, all of them mirroring Ryuuzaki's. Even his father's weathered face was engraved with large dark rings.

"Do you have her?" L asked, finding a free chair and jumping to his perch. He left Light standing, and didn't bother to offer him a chair.

"Yes sir," Matsuda replied, his tone fatigued but triumphant.

"And have you managed to get anything out of her?"

At this inquiry, Matusda's face fell. "Uh…no, sir."

"Well, I suppose I was right then." He went to spin in his chair, but was stopped by the yank of the chain. He frowned deeply at Light, then his attention shifted rapidly back to the case at hand.

Most of what Ryuuzaki was saying flew over Light's head, since he had had no past involvement in the case. He was haphazardly drawn into it. At the moment, Light was still trying to absorb his environment. The walls were covered with monitors and numerous tables were strewn with excessive amounts of files and paperwork. All of the men (and one woman) were tapping away at computers, their bloodshot eyes transfixed on the illuminated screens. In the corner of the basement, he saw a large, quarantined area with thick steel walls. He could only assume that it was a shelter from natural disasters. Earthquakes, tsunamis, and the like. The only break in the cool grey steel was a small window that had been cut out. Odd…

Light peered closer at the window. Inside he saw a table. He squinted harder and saw the motionless shape of a person…his quiet investigation was cut off by the sound of his own name, resonating from the lips of Ryuuzaki.

"And Light Yagami will be the one to extract any and all information."

"I'll be doing what?" Light asked, with the tone of someone who had been selected for something he hadn't applied for.

"You'll be our interrogator for the day."

"Interrogator?" Light asked, his peripherals locking on to grey cubicle with a window. So it was a person inside…

"Yes, since none of us have been able to make any headway," Ryuuzaki gave him a knowing stare. "And you're quite gifted with…persuasion." Light flinched under that stare, remembering the guard he had convinced to let him into the hospital.

"I'm not part of your case," Light said. "You've just dragged me along for the ride."

Ryuuzaki jangled the handcuffs loudly. "I see."

Wait…was he..? The bastard was blackmailing him! He would release him from the handcuffs if Light interrogated this person for him…it made no sense at all. This was L, the greatest detective of all time. Would he really be as petty? Light weighed the thought for a moment, glancing down at the handcuff and then up at Ryuuzaki, who retained a perfectly innocent face.

"I can supply you with a earpiece so I can relay to you what I need you to say, you can just dress it up a bit." _Jangle, jangle, jangle. _Ryuuzaki let the chain clink noisily once more. The two stared unblinkingly at the other, Ryuuzaki trying to get what he wanted and Light trying to find some loophole he could squirm through.

"I'm compelled about the urgency of the case, I'll do it for you," Light said, his brown eyes flashing between the chains and the grey cube with the window. Ryuuzaki blinked twice as if to say: _'Good choice.'_

"Very well then," Ryuuzaki said, holding up a hand and beckoning. "I'm glad to see that we're on the same page." In response to the hand gesture, an old man walked briskly over to accommodate the detective. "Watari, the key please." Those haunting dark eyes trained on Light without reprieve. The old man reached with arthritic fingers into his pocket, drawing out the key and moving to unlock the handcuffs.

Light rubbed his wrist as Ryuuzaki jumped to his feet. Watari then handed Light a compact earpiece. The brunet hesitated for a moment before inserting it into his ear. He covered the device with chunks of his hair, which was growing somewhat greasy from lack of showering. Without a chain to yank Light along, Ryuuzaki could only shuffle forward toward the window, trusting that Light would be intelligent enough to follow him.

Behind the glass was a young woman, probably about late-twenties to early thirties. She was dressed in hospital scrubs and she sat with her hands folded on the table. Her eyes were wide and piercingly emotionless. "Hitomi Nakura," Ryuuzaki said softly. "And don't worry; she can't see us through the glass, we can only see her. She stumbled upon the body of Kiyomi Takada…"

The name struck a familiar chord in Light, but he felt little sadness for her passing. She was just a girlfriend, one of the many that had insisted themselves upon him during college.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes," Light said without smiling. "It's just that I was familiar with Miss Takada."

"Yes, I knew. That's why I thought you might have…a little more luck."

Silence.

"I will feed you instructions through the earpiece, just make sure that you ask the vital information, you don't need to repeat it word for word," Ryuuzaki continued, offering up a noncommittal shrug. "You should be fine."

After the brief exchange of dialogue ended, Watari led Light to a steel door, sticking a key in the lock and opening it just wide enough for Light to slip through without revealing anything on the outside to the woman sitting inside. Surprisingly enough, she stayed statue still. Her lips were drawn tightly; as if she was fighting tears, but her eyes were dry as desert.

"Hello, I'm Light Yagami," Light said graciously, glancing at the window. He couldn't see Ryuuzaki from inside, but he was fully aware that the detective was watching intently. Like this was some sort of television show to him. Her head flicked up slightly at the name.

"Yagami?"

"Yes," came the tentative reply from Light.

_Ask her how she's related to Takada. _The earpiece buzzed and the voice blared. Light put a hand over his ear to signal it was too loud. "How do you know Takada? I used to date her in college."

"Yes, I was aware," she snapped in a small voice. "No wonder she dated you, you're androgynous as anything." He was taken aback by that comment, not really aware of what spurred it. _Androgynous? _Buzzed the earpiece once more. Light frowned at the blow to his masculinity, but took it in stride.

"And how do you know her?" Light asked.

Hitomi Nakura gave him a hard stare. "I'm her girlfriend."

Light made a point of ignoring what the earpiece buzzed with next.

* * *

"A woman immune to Light Yagami's charms," Ryuuzaki said, as if he was admiring Miss Nakura. "And all because she has no desire for his genitals." Light threw the earpiece on the table, sulkily taking a seat next to Ryuuzaki. Soichiro, who was seated a couple feet away, was pointedly ignoring the conversation pertaining to Light and his genitals.

"Would you leave it alone?" Light asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, at least you compiled a bit more helpful information than the rest of us," Matsuda added helpfully. He nudged Ide, who concurred with a small grunt.

"True," Ryuuzaki said, now able to spin in his chair with the lack of handcuffs. "But that makes me more suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Light leaned back in his own chair.

"Yes…If I were you, I'd be quite angry to find that I'd been dumped for the opposite sex." What Light didn't know was that Ryuuzaki was going by what he'd read, and not by actual personal experience. The man had never been on a date or a social outing with a stranger in his life. Minus their Coffee Shop escapades. "What's to stop you from murdering her out of anger, out of disgust?" Ryuuzaki tipped his head to ceiling in thought. "Someone had painted '_lesbian whore' _in blood."

"You're kidding me," Light retorted. Maybe it was his imagination, but Light swore he could hear the _jangle _of handcuffs.

* * *

_Sorry this took me so long. My computer fried. There won't be another chapter until I get a new one. _

_I'm sorry. _


	11. Scarlet's Bar

_This is where the rating is moved up to Mature. Enjoy it, because it only gets more graphic from here on. _

_:)_

* * *

What Misa Amane didn't know was that she was being watched. Well…she was in fact being watched in several ways. Firstly, a camera eyed her with black irises, keeping her under strict monitoring. The video was relayed 24/7 to the makeshift headquarters in the hospital's basement. Secondly, the Casanova Killer was enjoying a latte and sitting serenely on a park bench, keeping the hospital in his range of vision. And thirdly…well, thirdly was perhaps the most bizarre of all.

She was being watched by a Shinigami.

A Shinigami? It was the last thing you'd assume was watching you. But it watched her all the same. However, he was no "it". It was a he, and his name was Gelus. Gelus was a lonely little Shinigami; he had never gambled with the other Shinigami or really managed to find any friends in his lonely little niche. He mostly scribbled aimlessly in his Death Note as the others lazily mocked him for his hard work. So instead of attempting to find some sort of meaning in his existence in the Shinigami Realm, he looked elsewhere to pass the endless, stolen years.

He found Misa Amane.

And he watched her with an intent face, ridden with jealously for the fact that he could only watch her from afar. His horridly patched face would never be able to woo a woman such as her. Gelus could only stare down at her with his beady, ugly little eyes. And then feel the sweeping heartbreak that they were worlds apart. So he had watched her grow into a successful woman, watch her make her way in the human world. And even, despite his anguish, watch her with numerous male counterparts. Each taunting day was an encore of her tantalizing beauty, the ache of love thrumming in his heartless, poorly stitched body.

It was until of the day she had nearly been killed that Gelus had been ripped from his sense of forlorn distance. There she was, screaming in agony as her soft, delicate flesh was torn by the sharpened edge of knife. Each scream was like a tear in the stitching that held Gelus's being together. He had wanted to kill the man that had dared hurt the Misa he had watched for so long. But he wasn't a dull Shinigami; he first looked at her life span. She wasn't destined to die that particular day; in fact she had some time left. The numbers would never lie to a Shinigami's wise eyes. And so Gelus glanced away, ignoring the pounding feeling where a human would possess a heart. He ignored the atrocities, and hoped that one day he would be able to save her and repent for letting her be ravaged in such a vicious manner. Each shriek was slicing him worse than a blade ever could. But he would wait.

He would wait for the day that Misa would need him to save her. And he would sacrifice himself willingly for her. Because what he felt for her transcended the dank Shinigami Realm. It transcended the bare existence on the malnourished terrain. She was worth more than his very life, she was his Achilles heel. For Gelus had made the foolish mistake. A four letter word that had sealed his fate long ago.

It was _love. _He loved her to _death._

* * *

What Light Yagami didn't know was that he was being heard. Not in the sense where he spoke and those would listen, in fact he was receiving the opposite of that now. In the sense that little, inconspicuous bugs clung to his skin. No, no…not the kind of bug that bit you or gave you lime disease, this certain bug wasn't a living thing at all. It was an electronic sort of bug, the one that was slipped into the folds of you clothing and cunningly listened in to your words. And every word he spoke was being digested ever so carefully by Watari. Most of the investigation he had gone unnoticed, keeping to himself with headphones situated upon his skull. Although he served a vital purpose despite his lack of words, working steadily and silently toward a singular purpose.

So when the brunet implored the question: "Can I leave now?" he was rewarded with an affirmative answer. Not because it was safe for him to leave, but simply because he was being kept under strict and confidential surveillance.

"So I can just…go?" Light asked, the words pouring out, relieving the pressure on his insides. But it was too simple. Light wasn't intimate with Ryuuzaki, or L, but he knew that things were never that simple with him.

"Yes." came the curt reply. Light glanced around tentatively, almost trying to find a reason he _shouldn't _leave. As if this was a ruse or trap or some unconscious way for Ryuuzaki, or L, to justify his unfounded suspicions. "Just set the elevator for the lobby," Ryuuzaki stated dismissively. Light was still searching for reasons of his dismissal. He found nothing. His feet slapped against the floor as his legs carried him to the elevator. There was a sense that he was leaving something, though he couldn't quite perceive what it was he was abandoning. Was it the case? The pursuit of the answer? The lack of instant gratification to these questions was highly irritating.

He pressed up arrow upon the wall and waited for the elevator to descend. There was a moment that lacked any words, any whispers, any sound at all. Light felt it weigh awkwardly upon him, not liking the sensation of wallowing in the muteness. But no one had anything to say, even Light didn't. So the silence cruelly persisted. He felt like thanking higher powers when the doors slid soundlessly open, revealing the bare cubicle inside. There was still that sensation of leaving, those messages that ran down through his spine causing his body to feel light and yet empty. His bones hollow as a bird's, waiting to be filled.

The young man stepped into the cubicle and pressed his floor. He waited. And the doors began to swing closed, left with the parting image of Ryuuzaki propped up upon his swiveling chair, feet drawn curiously against his sparse chest and his pale skin luminescent from the light of the computer monitor. He felt a pang in his heart, one of undeniable desire to capture such unusual beauty. Like a firefly in a jar or a butterfly pinned down, kept in an inhumane, unnatural environment for all to admire. It's beauty cut down and frozen in time.

And Light knew that he still desired those pictures.

* * *

"_Hello?_"

He was graced with no answer.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Still there was naught but the restrained, discreet silence. So Light fished the key from his pocket and tucked it into the lock, the two forming perfect union and allowing the door to swing open. Roughly reclaiming the key from the lock, he entered and shed his shoes. Still the atmosphere was dominated by the unobtrusive silence. The kitchen was spotless and scrupulously clean. Light peered for a note, but saw that there was none upon the swirled-stone countertop. Drumming his fingers atop the marble, he pondered for a moment. His mother and sister weren't home, but that was typical. Sayu was busy with her social life and Sachiko was busy with the obvious avoidance of home and all its unwanted heartbreak.

Then the pictures, Ryuuzaki's wan face, and all the baggage that accompanied it darted rapidly across his train of thought. And at once he was climbing the stairs with subdued urgency, as if ashamed of the fact that he would find such and affair as pressing as he did. But he trekked onward, pushing through his bedroom door and locking it self-consciously behind him. The dim light of morning poured through the sliding glass windows and his bed was (quite unusually) unmade. He immediately drew the camera from his desk drawer and flicked his computer on.

_Click, click…_

Where the hell were those files? His lips twisted into an unappealing grimace of skepticism. He had saved all the files…and he had backed them up on a flash drive. He immediately went digging through his drawers once more to find the precious flash drive upon which he had encrypted all the files. Every image of Ryuuzaki (or L, as Light found himself adding in at an alarming rate) had been painstakingly saved upon it. It wasn't there. He felt like screaming but found that angry outcalls were below his level of infuriation. Every shot of him, sprawled out like marble statue, stiff and chiseled with white stone and his contrasting hair dripping with moisture, was all lost…wait.

He hooked up his camera directly to his computer via cable and searched through every shot that had been burned onto the hard drive of the device. Hundreds upon hundreds of thumbnails stood like rows of soldiers upon his screen. He scanned through shots he had previously taken pride in, dismissing them as "shit" as he scrolled furiously through the seemingly endless rows. Nothing.

He slammed his camera down with little affection, feeling the frustration slip into his veins. The brunet speared the power button on his computer monitor and the screen flickered to black. His emotions were a convolution of anger, despondence, and regret for not taking better care of protecting the files. He should have known that _he _would find a way into the pictures. The photographer glanced at the camera, and once more its cyclopean stare met his caramel gaze. "That bastard," he whispered to it, as if he was confiding in a close friend. Not an inanimate camera. "How'd he find a way to get into my files? He must've sent someone." Light frowned deeply, the creases marring his smooth face. There was a faint shine from the sun on the lens of the camera. Clouds drifted occasionally across the bright orb, and the time of sunlight was patchy and broken. It's all gone."

With the sense of loss culminating in his chest, Light went to replace the camera inside his desk drawer. The old wood made a scraping sound as he slid the drawer from its place. In his fervor to find his pictures, he had not before noticed the small, inconspicuous slip of paper, folded in a neat triangle. But now that his motions were slowed. After placed his camera down, the brunet carefully picked it from the wooden surface. It wasn't his, and that could only mean one precise thing.

It was Ryuuzaki's.

It was L's.

Light rose from the chair, fingering the small triangle pensively in his hands. He stalked across the carpet in his room and peered out his window, pushing a small space between the shades so he could glimpse out onto the dim streets. If Ryuuzaki could break into his home, destroy all his files, and then leave a note in his locked desk drawer, then the possibility of his being able to spy upon the young ex-detective seemed exceedingly probable. He could be watching, listening in at any moment. There's no telling what Ryuuzaki might've done to his room.

His mind began to conjure up every single possibility, and in that moment he felt horribly naked and exposed. There could be cameras…microphones…Light's head flicked around anxiously, feeling paranoia begin to kick in.

The photographer had nearly forgotten the small piece of paper nestled in the creases of his palm, napping peacefully against his closed fingertips.

Carefully unclenching his fist, he glared at the triangular shape, as if something profound would come of just staring at it. His long fingers went to pry it apart, making sure not to rip the delicate pages. Once it was open, he digested the simple statement.

_Beautiful_

_**-L**_

The pungent taste of frustration receded slightly.

* * *

There is a simple concept that some of us forget.

We are human. And carnal desires, no matter how uncharacteristic for the person, are always, undeniably present. So that would explain why Light Yagami was on his way to a bar. Not because he wanted to drink, or felt the particular need for loud music and strobe lights. It was because he was being struck by carnal desires, and was in no way about to abstain or deny himself. Because, for all his coldness, was still a human with said carnal desires.

The bar was inconspicuous and only slightly trashy. The brick building (where the bar was situated) was windowless for obvious reasons. Several of the letters upon the lighted sign had gone out, and so what should have read 'Scarlet's Bar' read 'Scar e 's Bar'. The few lights that were left on flickered weakly against the night.

Inside it smelled of liquor, sweat, and cigarette smoke. Light took a seat at the bar, his eyes flicking between the men, trying to decide which one he took an immediate liking to first. Over there was tall, dark, and handsome with a suit, very buisness-like. He looked inexperienced, like a deer in the headlights. Perhaps it might be fun.

Then there was clean-cut-average-looking sitting on the opposite side of the bar. Next to him, conversing rather animatedly was multi-colored-hair-flamboyance. Then there was…he was unusual. Silent-inconspicuous-loner. Now there was something different, perhaps challenging. Light took a seat next to him at the bar.

"Hello," he said, signaling for the bartender to come over. After ordering a beer, he continued to speak. "I'm Light Yagami; would you care for a refill on your drink?" He flashed his white, million dollars, PR smile and gestured to the bartender. And the most bizarre thing was the man was quiet. He was dressed neatly and his brown hair was smoothed conscientiously against his forehead, he looked fairly normal despite his granite expression. And no one, man or woman, had ever been soundless after being hit on by Light Yagami.

"What's your name?" he tried again. There was still deficiency of a response. "Are you alright?"

The awkward moments ticked by. Was it really worth these strained respites? No, it was not, so Light moved on to tall, dark, and handsome sipping his martini and sitting by himself. As gawky as a freshman on the first day of high-school. Light found this newness radiating off him interesting (for Light was one to like the feeling of being more knowledgeable) so he advanced.

"What kind of martini is that?"

* * *

L wasn't entirely sure why he had let his Task Force go home. Shortly after Light had departed, he had said that they could return home to their families. He had even let Watari, his closest associate, rest. So that meant he would have to take up the task of listening to Light as well as observing the film from security cameras, for some of the murders had taken place in venues containing these cameras. Not that this multi-tasking (impossible for an average being) would deter him at all. He had solved cases simultaneously for years and years, and this was no challenge. It was simply second-nature.

It was an understatement to say that L had bugged a few people in his lifetime. Though it was illegal in Japan, L had determined that justice was blind and the ultimate justice used whatever means necessary, obviously blind to the clear-cut law. He had utilized Watari's skill and dexterity at placing devices such as cameras and miniscule microphones.

Due to the fact that L had monitored many strange criminals in his lifetime, he had become desensitized to foul language and even the sound of a man choking the life out of someone (after Watari had bugged his coat). But this was something entirely different.

'_Lay down…I won't hurt you,'_

_Moan, moan._

'_That's a good boy…'_

Here was something L had _not _been desensitized to.

Let's clear something up. L was not completely clueless. He had some sort of inkling when it came to sexual intercourse, as he had read many books upon the subject and had the World Wide Web at his fingertips. But never once been curious enough to actively watch it or participate. He had more things to worry about, such as the thirty cases or more he would solve at once. It was almost as if his sexual drive had been taken over by the inhuman amounts of work he took on.

Ah, but you forget.

L is still human, a human with carnal desires. So that would explain why he began to ignore the security tapes, the small, blurry forms of the Casanova Killer and his victim. And for the moment, what he had been occupied with his entire life was momentarily forgotten. Solving cases and devoting himself to justice was brushed aside. All he could focus one were the moans and small noises slipping sensually through the speakers.

'_A-ah…Light…'_

'_Shh, it's okay…'_

L nibbled his thumbnail, stiff with intent listening.

'_I'm going to enter, it'll hurt.'_

'_I'm fine…' Moan, moan. 'Do it.'_

The detective tensed as though he was watching a movie and something crucial was about to occur.

"_A-Ah!" Whimper, whimper. _

"_Shh…I'll take care of you."_

_Whimper._

And once more we arrive back at carnal desires. They are the only thing that would explain the legendary detective's distraction, he couldn't help be aroused by the sexual moans coming from the speakers. Now, L had received erections in his lifetime, but never had been entirely sure what to do with them. Instead he had purposefully ignored the bulge in his pants and went on with his day, waiting till it subsided.

No wonder it was hard for Light to picture him with genitals.

But now, with a newly acquired erection and an empty room, L wasn't so sure if it was the wisest thing to leave it be, as he had for his entire life. Perhaps it would be best to relieve himself…All the while, moans from Light and whomever he was with sounded in the background, like a desperate symphony of desire. And to this background music, L carefully went to unzip his jeans using his forefinger and thumb.

* * *

The Casanova Killer was not an idiot.

In fact he was very smart about how he went about his crimes. Some of the time, he would indulge a little and commit them himself, and other times he would hire someone to do the pleasure of the murder for him. The majority of them were two-bit criminals he had hired cheaply off the street. They were the most fun to toy with, of course. The latest one he had hired was someone who had one foot dipped into the culture of crime and drugs, and the other foot in home life with his wife and kid. The Casanova Killer had decided that this man would be the one to take the fall for him. For his reign as the Casanova Killer had reached the pinnacle of its interest was soon about to take a short and sharp nosedive. The Casanova Killer had always thought of himself like Madonna, prone to reinventing himself when one image became boring. This thought nearly always evoked a small bout of laughter.

So he had paid the man he had selected a godly sum of money for one simple job, to kill the next target he had selected. The news anchor, Kiyomi Takada. First the man was hesitant, which was understandable. He was not a killer, he did not enjoy it as much as the Casanova Killer did, and he did not take pride in the sheer _artwork _of murder, the careful orchestration of gruesome details and beauteous gore. He just didn't understand, and this was partially why the Casanova Killer had selected him specifically to take the fall.

The gun he had given the man was guaranteed never to trace back to him, and yet the Casanova Killer had planted several follicles of hair along it surface so that it would be specifically linked _to _him. And since he was a petty crook, his DNA was clearly going to be the Police Database. So the Killer had instructed this unknowing man to drop the gun and fled the scene.

It took the dull-witted man quite a while to figure out he'd been set up.

In fact it was probably hours before he would be arrested that he'd had the horrifying epiphany.

So the Casanova Killer paid him a house visit, bringing his favorite of all weapons. A knife. And he danced around them like a wicked harlequin, swinging his blade in an elaborate routine designed specifically for this foolish man and his foolish family. After years of practice in the field of threatening, he had become highly proficient. None of them appreciated his jesting or his protruding silver knife.

"_Talk and I will skin your pretty little wife alive. If your wife talks, I'll peel the flesh off your cute little girl." _

And that was the end of it.

The Casanova Killer was moving on, as he had so many times before.

He had later called in that night and anonymously tipped the police about the "real" Casanova Killer, the idiots taking his word for it. Not ever realizing that the entire time they had been talking to the actual culprit. It made him giggle with delight, for he had one-upped the authorities once again. And then he decided to go out for a drink. To a place where there were no whores or wretches, no foul women to stink up the place. So he went to a gay bar, chuckling as he strode in. He sat in silence and enjoyed his drink, thinking that this was celebratory evening, he was moving on.

The crucial difference this time (as opposed to every other crime he had committed) was that L was hot on his trail. Only he didn't quite know it yet.


	12. The Fluke

Light had to come to the realization some time ago that he was not interested in women. For the main portion of his life, coming home with a girl on his arm was like a reflex, a ruse to make it appear to his parents as if he just a normal teenage boy doing normal teenage things. One of which is having a girlfriend, and that was expected of him. But Light wasn't a man for commitment or longevity in a relationship. To be honest, he only cared for short flings that satisfied his needs and then a fresh start with someone new. But the nasty fact about women was that they had an awful tendency to cling to a man, even when he makes it clear that he's left. It didn't really matter to Light what his partner had in their pants, what mattered was if they would dance his tango and then subside just as quickly as they approached.

Men are far better at that than women. Women say relationships, men say one-night-stands. Women proclaim marriage, and men proclaim casual sex. It was just logic on Light's part that he took a larger interest in the male populous. So picking up the man from Scarlet's Bar (or Scar e 's Bar) was a frequent occurrence and Light had thought little of it. He was too busy thinking of other things. He had the Casanova Killings to worry about, Ryuuzaki, L, and retrieving back his pictures from nuisance of a detective. He might've saved them…it was a fleeting hope on Light's part.

He had taken pictures of Ryuuzaki after the rain and he had them ready for editing. He was finally hoping that he could show them at art shows and sell the prints for some well-needed money. Maybe even enough to finance an apartment of his own. But those shining hopes were promptly stamped out like a dying campfire. Since Ryuuzaki was L, having pictures of himself being spread across the art world was the last thing he needed, and so the detective was forced to dispose of them. Even if Light pleaded to Ryuuzaki that he would keep them solely for personal and private reasons, the pale-faced genius would be quick to deny him.

That would explain why Ryuuzaki was not nearly as adamant about allowing Light to take said pictures of him after the rainstorm. He had followed the brunet back to the Yagami family home out of interest and had let the photos be taken simply because he knew that later it would all amount to nothing. The man was playing with a hand of five aces, a rigged hand. Light was guaranteed to lose every time. So the detective played along with Light, allowed the young photographer to have the illusion that he was in control. When the entire time he was dancing like L's marionette. He was a manipulator despite what his reputation had always said about him. Things that said he was honest wielder of justice that smote complex criminals in just days at a time. He was a petty blackmailer and manipulator; he wasn't honorable, far from it in fact.

Light frowned. He was standing in the shower with lukewarm water spilling over his chest and slipping down his body. He felt sticky from last night, and his first matter of business was to cleanse himself. The sex had been alright, nothing amazing. Well, it had been the guy's first time, and Light had seized it like an eager child wanting the first slice of cake. It was fun, a change of pace. There was still the question of the quiet brunet in the bar, sitting anti-socially with his drink and crisp suit. Perhaps Light, the man for a challenge, would try and pursue him again. He looked as though he was more experienced, and would make an evening alone a bit more fun and adventurous…kinky even. A rush of images cluttered Light's thoughts in a sudden barrage.

Twisting the knob, the water promptly stopped. The sopping brunet let himself drip for a moment, observing his dim reflection in the shower's glass door. What he saw would have pleased any man, upped their self confidence like a drug. He was tall and strong, solid and yet very lean at the same time. An admirably sized manhood and well-shaped legs. It would have made any man flush with pride, but Light could only stare stolidly. He was well-accustomed to his projection of perfection, well-accustomed to the comments and the easy sex and the men and the women. After a while it all became the same. Good food became tasteless, good wine became watery. Good sex became hard to find and good entertainment was few and far between.

He cocked his head, watching his imaginary twin do the same. What would Ryuuzaki look like, standing here naked and dripping, just as Light was now? He would not be nearly as perfect, Light conceded. But perhaps he would be beautiful in his flaws. In his papery flesh and unruly hair, in the dark bags situated under his eyes, his hunched back. And Light could see himself, clutching a camera, snapping shots of L standing naked and dripping in the shower stall, shivering with the cold. It was a perfect setting. Everything was vivid in the morning light, pouring in through the skylight window carved into the ceiling.

Just fantasy, fantasy and nothing more…Light thought spitefully to himself. Ryuuzaki had allowed the photographer to shoot him once after the rain, and letting him do so once more would most likely be out of the question. It was just useless, pointless _fantasy._ The thought was tiresomely frustrating, because one thing Light was _not _accustomed to was being denied.

Clambering out of the shower stall, he grabbed himself a towel and tucked it securely around his waist. It was another day to waste away, to exist in rather than live in. All the excitement that had built up to this point seemed to take a short and sharp plummet back into the mundane. L, The Casanova Killer, Misa Amane, his involvement with The Casanova Case, last night's sex. Yet here he was, showering and getting dressed to go nowhere. After all that…he had _nowhere. _

Wait.

He had somewhere.

He dressed quickly for the dreary weather after drying off his limbs. It was grey and cold, so he pulled on a pair of casual jeans, a sweater, and then an old blazer over that. He had just one place. One place that inspired him, made his senses hum. Walking quickly downstairs, he ignored his audible stomach and proceeded to get his things. Sloppily slinging his bag over his shoulder and pulling on his plain black shoes, he jogged out the door and closed it loudly behind him. However he was uncaring that he had most likely awakened a family member.

_One place. _

* * *

It should have rained.

It should have. But it didn't. Instead the thick cumulus clouds decided to hang there in the sky, meandering without aim. It should've rained.

Light turned the corner, his bag slapping lightly against his leg with each step. Closer, closer…he was approaching it. There it was, standing like a brick statue. It was like seeing an old friend, remembering distinct features but forgetting all the subtle ones. Closer still, he was nearly there. He squinted his eyes, trying to see if he could make out who was inside through the large windows. He couldn't see anyone right away.

Step, step…each footfall seemed unique. He was at the door…

And was met with something unexpected. A distinct feature that had not been there before, one that he hadn't expected. There, hanging crookedly on the front door, was a grotesquely orange sign that read "FOR RENT." Inside the shop it was completely empty. All the rickety tables and chairs with paint-chipping were no more. The counter was bare of any sweets or jars of candy. The obscure pieces of art that lined the walls and coffee makers were absent. They had gone out of business. It shouldn't have been surprising to the typical passerby; economic times weren't the most favorable. But to Light, who had an intimate knowledge and set of memories with the small shop, was caught off guard by the sudden loss. It almost hurt, like a dull ache in his chest. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced before, and he supposed it was because he had never been as attached to something. Even girlfriends as a teenager or old stuffed toys as a child hadn't been as…as…as _loved._ And it was the most bizarre thing Light had ever thought in his life.

It took a moment for Light to digest this turn of events. There was no longer any place for him, no specific spot that he favored above all others. This was the place where he had first stumbled upon Ryuuzaki, _upon L. _His palm slapped roughly against the door. "Hello?" he demanded. This earned several stares. _Bang, bang, bang._ His fist pounded without respite against the glass door. "Hello?!" No one was there.

Defeated, confused, and feeling oddly purposeless, Light trodden across the sidewalk and flopped down onto the curb. His back to the now-vacant building. He could think of nowhere else to turn, no friend to call, no ex-girlfriend to ask for a ride. He was utterly, completely empty. And there was not one person or one particular venue that Light could really place his finger on. It was a sad end for someone charismatic, intelligent, and attractive as Light. But that was the curse of his genius and the curse of his flaws. The vanity that drove everyone away, the shallow sense of devotion towards human beings, and his impatience for anyone who he didn't deem "worthy" of his time. As a result, there was no one. No one at all. No one was devoted (or crazy) enough to endure him.

It should have rained.

* * *

"Hey Gelus! Come gamble with us!"

Gelus was reluctant to answer, mumbling a watery excuse and turning back to the portal that led to the human realm. Right now, the object of his affections was drifting in deep slumber, her wounds healing as she rested. The Shinigami was watching her as lovingly and persistently as a husband or a father. Only their realm-apart, one-sided relationship was not as conventional or straightforward.

"You gonna keep watching those stupid humans?" one snorted with obvious distaste. Gelus pointedly ignored them, clutching his Death Note and continuing to loom over the portal.

"Come on, loosen up! Ha!"

The wind whistled, humming over the lackluster landscape. The Shinigami listened to the familiar gusts for several quiet moments before turning noisily back to their game, bartering and betting with all the years they had to spare. Gelus continued to watch the portal as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Even though it was just a motionless girl, lying in her bed. He gave a sigh that was oddly human as the nurse shuffled in. Opening his Death Note, Gelus glanced at the nurse and then scribbled messily with his pen.

The nurse went rigid, halting for a moment. She carried on with her business, adjusting Misa's pillow so it was comfortable, fixing her sheets, and checking her vitals. And then, she went to the window and pushed it open. Presumably so she could have a little breeze come in the stuffy room. However, instead she stuck her head out, curly hair and all jutting from the window. Then she followed with her shoulder and her arms and then kicked off with her feet. And she was out of sight. She was dead. And he was alone with his Misa again, watching silently as though the interruption had never occurred. Was it his own frustration he had taken out on that human? Perhaps.

"Well, that was mean," came a throaty voice from behind.

Gelus's head spun around and he saw Ryuk crouching several feet to his rear. Large black wings jutted from where shoulder blades would be on a human torso. He had just landed. "Hello Ryuk," Gelus stated blandly. Ryuk was perhaps the only Shinigami he ever felt any kinship with. The rest were greedy and inconsequential and hated the humans. Ryuk had little care for their gambling or their games, much like Gelus. He was far too fascinated with the human world below. Once more like Gelus. Only Ryuk was more…proactive about his interests. Every couple hundred years or so, the Shinigami would "drop" his Death Note in the human world for his own sick twisted kicks. And once the possessor had died, he would come back and chuckle about it until he dropped it again. It was a cycle that Gelus had witnessed many times over, each one of the owners pursuing different things. Money, sex, power, revenge…all meeting the same untimely fate.

Gelus, however, couldn't fathom how Ryuk could locate rapture in taking life in such a personal way. He would always be the one to scribble down the owner's name, sometimes he would wait decades in the human world to finally carry out the deed. But it would be finished eventually and Ryuk would come soaring back, laughing to himself. Gelus had never been physically in the human world, and had never cared for going there himself. He was keener on soaking it in from afar and taking life in an impersonal way. Such as the nurse he had just made to commit suicide. That was because he was feeling particularly frustrated today. It seemed the other Shinigami had grown slightly bored with their endless gambling and had taken a shine to bombarding Gelus and calling rude things to him. He just wanted to be alone, in the quiet, watching his precious Misa. Delicate as a flower and (compared to his lifespan) only to live as long as a butterfly captured in a jar.

Even shorter than that. If she lived to the precise time when her lifespan said, that is. Time was ticking. The numbers that hung like a halo above her head were like a death sentence scrawled out and signed by the highest and most irrefutable authority. Fate.

But perhaps fate wasn't meant to end up like that. With Gelus forever grieving in heartache and turmoil at her inevitable passing. Perhaps fate had larger and greater plans for the two of them. Perhaps. Maybe she wasn't meant to die, maybe it was a fluke. But that was absolutely out of the question; of course she was going to die at the allotted time. It had worked like this since the beginning of time, since the beginning of humans, since the beginning of Shinigamis. There couldn't have been a fluke present, a loophole through which any creature (Shinigami or Human) could worm through to escape. It had worked like this, back and back and back, to the time when the oldest of Shinigami were young. To the time when the first humans hunted and gathered, scouring the land for sustenance. There couldn't have been a fluke. Impossible. Unthinkable.

But there was a fluke.

Love.

And a fluke was about to take place. Standing on the tenuous edge of a cliff, walking drunkenly on the edge, ready to fall. And soon things were about to plummet down and be sent whipping into motion. Like a soda can shaken and preparing to burst.

Because there was a fluke.

Love.

Ryuk grinned and let out a familiar chuckle. "Hyuk, Hyuk, Hyuk," he cackled, his wings retracting. "This is so _interesting_…" Ryuk smiled, and Gelus felt his insides twinge. It had been precisely several centuries since Ryuk had let his Death Note drop, and many of the musings he had been cackling over for the last hundred years were beginning to become old. The time was drawing nearer and nearer.

"You aren't going to drop it, are you?" Gelus inquired, keeping his beady Shinigami Eyes locked on Misa.

"Maybe," Ryuk replied vaguely. He didn't have a planned time, a certain period when he would drop the Death Note. He would drop it on a whim, because having it set in advance would be so _boring._ Gelus, perplexed and interested by Ryuk, continued to keep his eyes locked faithfully on Misa Amane. "Soon."

* * *

Light sat with his shoes in the street and his backside on the sidewalk. His elbows were propped up on his knees and his head was in his hands. He had no intention of moving, no motivation to remove himself from the dirty old street corner. The grey clouds, ironically enough, had begun to glide away with the wind, the sun once more claiming the sky for itself. His clothing was meant for chill weather and moisture but with the sudden emergence of the fiery ball, he was beginning to become damp with his own sweat. Cars whooshed past, offering a meager and short-lived breeze, and it could do little to relieve the growing heat gathering on the dark pavement. His luck, which he had possessed nearly all of his life, was beginning to dwindle.

He had always had the best fortunes. If it rained, he would just happen to have an umbrella. If a plane was overbooked, he would end up in first class. It was just small things like that, always working out in his favor. But now it seemed that everything was going to hell. Ending up in the shitters. Maybe it was L who had stolen his luck away. Light could picture him, sucking down some sort of sweet and smiling impishly. The bastard.

* * *

He shouldn't have done, he shouldn't have done it…the voice resounded in his head, each reprimand lashing like a steel-spiked whip. And in his pathetic fear, he had fled his family and taken to aimlessly wandering the street like a drunk with no place to go. So stupid…He should have known that the offer was too good to be true. Enough money to be comfortable for a lifetime, all for one hit. So good that he couldn't resist, so he took it. In his ignorance and greed, he'd _taken _it. The taken an offer given to him by the _Casanova Killer. _

He didn't know how to tell his wife.

"Sayami," he'd said to her that night, poking with little hunger at his meager dinner.

"What?" she'd asked, sharply but not unkindly. His eyes trailed over her curvy body, settling the kanji that spelled his name, tattooed right on the swell of her breast. How in God's name was he supposed to go about telling her this?

"A job?" she asked incredulously. "You, the infamous Hitoshi Kato, have a job?" She smiled, and for a moment, she looked beautiful despite greasy hair and bedraggled appearance. She worked three jobs.

"Well…not a steady one," Hitoshi waited for the smile to disappear. It did in quick order. His heart throbbed a little, and he tugged nervously at the piercing in his lip. "I'm getting a lot of money for this one. You won't have to work again, baby." Sayami was frowning, she said nothing. Instead she stood up and pushed her chair in more noisily than necessary. Hitoshi flinched. "Come on; just listen to me for a minute…"

"No! How about you come to me with a job? Do you know how hard it is to pay for everything on my own? Everything!"

"I know, I know…" he cooed, trying to soothe with his voice.

"Yeah, you know…" Sayami said quietly. "Only problem is you don't give a shit about me, about your kid. Knowing is one thing, actually helping me is another, you deadbeat."

"Don't call me that," Hitoshi said slowly. "Do you want to know how much money I'm getting?" His voice kept rising, rising…until he screamed the amount at her. "I'm just trying to fucking help, you bitch!"

She flinched.

After a moment of silence, Hitoshi approached and wrapped his arms around the waist of Sayami. "I'm just trying to help…" he whispered in her ear, nuzzling her neck. He could smell her sweat, the labor of the day lingering on her skin. It would have smelled repulsive to someone else, to an outsider. Sweat, grease, and dirt within the creases. But it was labor that was fueled by love, not because she wanted to, because she had to. Because she loved her family, loved it so deeply that she would put herself through tortuous work shifts and sleep for meager stretches. It wasn't dirt or sweat or grease that was ground into her pores. It was pure, unadulterated love.

Hitoshi breathed deeper.

"What the hell are you smelling me for?" she asked, somewhat pleased but also confused. "I haven't taken a shower yet. I need to get one in before the landlord shuts our water off."

He didn't respond, only wrapped his arms tighter around her waist. "I have something to say…" he whispered. "That job…it's for the Casanova Killer…" he placed a hand on her mouth before she could scream and locked his free arm solidly about her waist. She couldn't escape. "Don't worry…It'll work out okay…I'll get the money and we can get a house. A real house, with a lawn and a big kitchen for you…I promise."

She stopped squirming and Hitoshi carefully removed his hand. "I promise." He kissed her atop the head.

He had promised her….promised a better life. And in his haste to improve their life had sold it away to a demon. He had signed their death warrant and they were all standing in the line of fire. So Hitoshi did what any respectable coward would do: he ran. He ran far away from his wife and his child and his home. The police would find him…find him and send him to the electric chair for crimes he hadn't committed, for being someone he was not. If he avoided that fate, then his family would be the ones on the chopping block, and that would only link him closer to the Casanova Killer.

So he ran and he ran and he ran. He cried and screamed in fear, knowing that he was soon to be dead…

* * *

Light's musings were suddenly interrupted. There was a man wailing hysterically as he stumbled down the street, waving his arms about and letting out dry-throated screams.

"Hey!" Light shouted, using his hand to vault himself off the ground. "Get out of the road!" He was about to run into the street when a car whizzed by, narrowly missing the photographer and the hysterical man who was standing stupidly in the midst of the street. Light jumped back, shaking unsteadily in his attempt to avoid from the vehicle. Another car came, veering to avoid the man. It looked as though it was coming at Light.

Now I'm sure you've all heard the term "frozen with fear" however Light was anything but frozen. His limbs seemed energized, almost empowered, by the fear that shot through his veins. He kicked off from the pavement, soaring backwards to avoid the car. It missed him by inches; instead it slammed straight into the large glass windows where the Coffee Shop used to reside. A sea of glass went airborne, falling across the red automobile, tinkling lightly as gravity brought it down. Light was breathing heavily, his palms were scratched and bleeding from the pavement (he had used them to help break his fall) and he felt as though all his energy had been stolen from him. But he was alive and breathing.

The same could not be said for the man in the street. He had been clipped by another car and was lying motionless in the road. Struggling to his feet, Light went to pull out his cell phone. Instead of calling the police line (for he knew that it would probably be someone unhelpful or unknowledgeable) he dialed his father's number. And he waited.

Soichiro's phone rang, the dial tone piercing cheerily the atmosphere. Everyone's head immediately flicked to look. L was the only one that moved, hopping from his chair and shuffling over towards the police chief. In one quick motion, he snatched the phone from Soichiro's jacket and flicked it open. '_Light Yagami' _read the caller ID. L answered.

"Hello?"

"…"

"Hello?" L repeated lightly.

"Ryuuzaki…?"

"Yes," L replied tonelessly. For some reason, the photographer sounded winded and strained, which was odd because he rarely ever had a rumpled composure.

"I need an ambulance…in front of the Coffee Shop," he wheezed out.

"Is something the matter?" L's tone was light, almost nonchalant. Something was clearly wrong.

"I can't hold the phone anymore…" the brunet made a small pained noise. And then L heard another small noise, which he presumed to be the phone hitting the ground.

The entire task force was eyeing him warily. "Watari…" L said, sticking his hands aloofly in his pockets. "Could you arrange us a vehicle?"

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note, I am not making any profit off of this. Unless you count my own personal amusement of playing God as profit._


	13. Something

_I realized how much of a lazy ass I've been for not thanking you reviewers; you're really what motivate me. I just wanted graciously thank you for supporting me, critiquing me, and helping me become a better author with every chapter. _

_Thank you!_

* * *

Light was sitting on the sidewalk once more; startlingly similar to before the car had crashed into the Coffee Shop. The red SUV was still burrowed deep into the vacant building. It looked as though a bomb had exploded and shrapnel was flung everywhere. Light glanced down at his bleeding hands, waiting. The EMT's had more important injuries to attend to. For instance the man driving the red SUV and the strange guy that was lying in the midst of the road, his limbs flung at awkward angles. They crouched over his body, assessing each injury with latex-covered fingertips. Each touch was light and a ginger and eventually the motioned to their colleagues, mouthing something that Light couldn't quite catch. However, there actions that occurred after projected the statement. He was dead. The tarp they threw across his body seemed almost cruel with how meager it was. It was a life that had been snuffed out, and they covered him in cold grey plastic and that was the end of things. Cold and grey plastic.

Light was so enraptured in thought that he hardly noticed the EMT that was squatting at his side, asking him several times if he needed medical attention, if he was okay. _No_, Light thought, _I have just witnessed someone die. I am not okay._ Instead of voicing this, he mutely turned his palms so they were facing upward and the red, bloody, mangled mess that was the flesh of his hands came into view. The EMT's face was set in a cool position, as if she'd seen things like this many times before. Worse things than some pulpy palms and scratched hands…Light assumed that some time in her past, she was the one to toss the tarp across the lifeless corpse. Scraped hands meant nothing.

"This is awful…" she said, a pathetic attempt at small talk as she bandaged up his hands. Light looked the other way, keeping his eyes focused on the empty road. Where was Ryuuzaki? Where was he? He should be here by now. There should be a car speeding down the road with the detective enclosed inside. He _should_ be here. But he wasn't. Where was Ryuuzaki?

Assuming that he'd gone mad (or went into shock) the EMT placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and spoke in an inadvertently belittling tone. "It's alright, honey…the police are going to need to ask you a few questions. And then we'll fix you right up and you can go home." Light purposefully ignored her, keeping his eyes fixated on the road. Where was he? Where was Ryuuzaki? Not here obviously…so did that make him a liar? Yes, yes it did. Liar. Where was Ryuuzaki? Liar. Where _was_ he? "Do you see something over there?" she asked kindly, twirling her head around to get a look behind her. Nothing. Liar.

"Nothing," Light muttered darkly, switching his brown gaze to the bandaged hands before him.

"Anything else I can do for you?" The EMT got to her feet and bent over, smiling at him. It was a weary smile, a tired smile. She had weathered a job that dealt with shocking things and smiling and innocent smile was nearly impossible.

"You can leave me be."

The EMT paused for a moment, taken aback by the brazen rudeness. Instead of replying, she just turned around and went to help wherever else it was needed. She didn't say goodbye nor offer him any more kind words. He had taken her kindness and spit it on the floor. But at this particular moment, he didn't care about the feelings he hurt or the small things that wounded insignificant people…he only cared about Ryuuzaki, his car speeding down the road. Where was he? He should be here. He said he would. Liar. Where was Ryuuzaki? He said he would be here.

Where was he?

Squinting his eyes, Light peered at the quiet road as if a vehicle would simply materialize upon the concrete, as if he stared long and hard enough, that Ryuuzaki would be there. That L would be there. Liar. He wasn't there.

And then…he was.

There was a black stretch limo speeding down the road, and barreling down the concrete without regard. No one was there to stop them anyways…though it was a mystery how they had made their way past the barricade that had been set up to protect the "crime" scene. Since this was treated as a hit and run. Well, he _was _the L after all...not just any person. So he wasn't a liar…no, he was just fashionably late. Light gave a wry grin and watched the limo come closer by the second. For such a low-profile detective, he definitely had a high-profile mode of transportation. Wouldn't something smaller and more compact be the more efficient choice? Well, that would be so if it was just Ryuuzaki by himself. But if there were others that occupied his space (which was rare) then he would need something a little more spacious. That being said, a limo could only mean one thing. More people…and the only people that were associated with L at the moment was the Task Force. He had brought them all. Dammit, he had brought them all! They were all heading towards him at this very moment, his father and his ex-coworkers…he needed Ryuuzaki alone. He needed the pictures, the photos…he _needed_ them. And by God he wasn't about to plea foolishly to L in front of the task force, in front of his own father. He was above that, above groveling and making a fool of himself.

The limo came to a halt, and several EMT's and policemen paused to watch, their expressions alight with curiosity and a hint of befuddlement. There shouldn't have been any cars down there besides emergency vehicles and cop cars, and yet here was this shining black limo parked languidly in the center of it all. It was bizarre. Before anyone could gather to courage to approach and investigate, Watari stepped in a dignified fashion from the driver's seat. His wrinkled face came into view and Light felt his stomach turn slightly. Where was Ryuuzaki? He had to be here…he wouldn't send Watari alone to fetch him like a dog from the kennel. That was just demeaning.

"Mr. Yagami," he spoke in a very commanding and self-assured tone. It rang through all of the manic of the scene and pierced straight through to Light. A gloved hand gesticulated for him to approach. Before Light could get to Watari, a police officer did. However he retreated after Watari pulled something from his pocket and allowed it to be seen. The police officer backed respectfully away and Light continued his steady approach. "Please get in," Watari instructed once Light had tromped over towards the black automobile. Unsurely but unwaveringly, Light made his way to the door, and struggled slightly with the handle. His bandaged hands made it highly unhelpful. Watari was kind of enough to open the door for him. When the brunet slid in, he nearly sat upon Ryuuzaki's lap.

"S-sorry…" Light grumbled, precariously maneuvering around the detective and placing himself a good distance away in the opposite seat. "Where is everyone else?" he asked, his head flicking around. No one was there but L.

"Everyone else?"

"You know…the Task Force."

"They're not here at the moment."

"Then why the limo?" the photographer cocked his head, adjusting his bottom against the smooth leather. The last thing Ryuuzaki seemed was flashy. The only thing he had that was flashy was his equipment to solve his cases and his elaborate desserts. Both of which he claimed were pertinent for him solving cases. But a limo…? That didn't seem like Ryuuzaki at all.

"I thought you would appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" Light suddenly realized the finely tuned insult that was being thrown his way. It was flashy and expensive and beautiful. It was also impractical and not logical in the least. That was definitely a blow. "Yes, I do appreciate." He brushed this off, adjusting in his seat and laying his bandaged hands limply on his lap.

"Did you hurt yourself?" L peered over at his hands. Light decided to completely ignore this, no sense trying to hide it or deny it.

"Yes, some idiot jumped out into the road and nearly had me run over," Light's eyes transferred from L to his hands. "Now enough with this small talk."

"I thought small talk was a normal function," L replied, "I was merely trying to 'break the ice.'"

"Where are they?" Light interrupted, not caring for whatever long-winded excuse L could formulate.

"What?" L seemed taken aback by the demand. He was normally prepared for anything, but this caught him off guard.

"You know what I'm talking about," Light sneered, sounding almost delirious. "Don't try and disillusion me, it won't work. You have _them. _Don't try and deny it, L."

"…" L adjusted in his seat, pressing his knees protectively against his chest. "You mean the photos?"

"Yes, of course I mean the bloody photos! What _else_ could you possibly have that I would want?"

"You need them that badly?" L asked, picking idly at the seams in his jeans. "I don't see how images could really be of that great importance."

Light was speechless for a moment. "Not of that great _importance?_ Are you out of your mind?" The brunet leaned forward, locks of his hair slipping down across his face. He frowned deeply, making sure that the lines of unhappiness creased his skin. "You don't understand it at all, L. That's _my_ art."

"Are you alright?" Perhaps the accident had knocked a few screws loose. It had caused him to go mad and become deluded.

"No, I'm not alright!" Light said, leaning closer still. The anger in his face drained away and was replaced with a look of desperation. "Are you really so cruel that you won't let me look upon them? The photos _I_ took?"

"A compromise, then?" L said coughing as Light's breath fanned across his face.

"Compromise…? You think I'm going to _compromise _with you?"

"Quiet, please." And for some reason, Light shut his open mouth. "Now I have them…all of them." The photographer bristled happily with this prospect, feeling relief wash over him. They were safe…safe. His art was safe. "They are to stay in my possession at all times. Any plot to steal them will result in my having to destroy every last one."

"Can I take more…that is, if they stay in _your_ possession at all times?" Light entreated, his voice was imploring. He was still trying to get his way.

"Perhaps…" L responded, cryptically as always. "But that is my offer, you can take it, or you can leave it."

Light was happy, beyond words and beyond comprehension. Curious warmth sprang into his chest and he felt it consume his entire body. It drowned out the dull ache of his bandaged, bloodied hands. For a moment all was forgotten except the spreading warmth that encompassed his being. He was _happy. _So happy that he could spring forward and kiss L full on the mouth. So in his moment of ecstasy, he did just what his instinct told him. He sprang forward like a horny teenage boy and kissed Ryuuzaki (or L) full on the lips. The detective went rigid with surprise for a moment before his limbs went slack. But the photographer was just too damn glad at the moment to have any inhibitions.

"Mmm…" Ryuuzaki mumbled incoherently, his mouth was still under sabotage and any retort was rendered useless. If Light's hands hadn't been wrapped with white constrictions, he would have placed then around L's neck. Instead they bumped uselessly against L's chest.

Finally Light surfaced for breath, drawing back and keeping his brown eyes locked with black ones. He was breathing, breath hot and lips moist. "Thank you…for that," he spoke softly, like if his tone was too loud it would ruin the moment. "I mean the pictures…but that wasn't too bad either." His head turned to look towards the front of the car. There was a window that separated the front seat from the back. A small black curtain was drawn, blocking the view.

"Watari cannot see us," L intoned dryly. "And why are you doing this?"

Light furrowed his brows. "What?"

"This," L repeated impatiently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What is it you want from me?"

"You think I _want _something from you?" Light felt anger swell in his chest. He hated to see Ryuuzaki be right, and he was most of the time. But this was one of the few instances where Light could say without a doubt that the great detective was mistaken. That he had made a miscalculation. But how was Light to explain the ecstasy or the happiness that had compelled him? "I think you've already made your opinions about me," he began, "I think that _you_ think you have me figured out, all my motives mapped and diagramed in your database. So maybe I kissed you once because I was caught up in something, because I wanted something. So what? Perhaps I'm not an awful bastard who will kiss anyone for the sake of material happiness. Perhaps I'm just a person who wants to kiss you, and did. Perhaps it's because I was fascinated by the bitter taste you have in your mouth…even though you shovel in the sweets the way you do. Maybe I'm interested. Is that so hard for you to understand? So out of the character you've set for me, that you've decided I am? Maybe I'm just fucking i_nterested_, Ryuuzaki or L or whatever the hell your name is."

The silence hung thick and heavy. L was staring blankly ahead, not moving nor emoting, or even breathing it seemed like. Still as a granite statue. "Maybe I have judged your character…but I've never been wrong about someone before. Every killer I've profiled has always turned out precisely as I had thought. People are a simple equation. You are no different." This assertion was stated in a clear, cold manner.

"You think I'm no different than the killers you profile?"

"Yes."

"I am different," Light said with the utmost certainty. "I am different because I'm not a killer, nor a murderer,—"

"That remains to be seen," L interrupted, but Light ignored this and carried on anyways.

"—I am different than those men you profile, because I do this. And it scares you." And once more, the photographer leaned fiercely forward and pushed his lips onto Ryuuzaki's. The familiar, somewhat bitter, taste of Ryuuzaki's mouth mingled with his own. It was wet and delicious and every bit as perfect as those photos. He pressed forward, adding a moist tongue to the chaotic mixture. It pushed sensually into L's mouth, prying apart pale lips and finding the warm cavern inside where it slid against L's own wet appendage. It was a beautiful and messy and enjoyable. It was everything, more passionate than any kiss with a woman or a cheap hook up. It meant _something_ which was so different from what Light was used to. He was used to emptiness and shallow superficiality. To the appearance of contentment and the cheap way he sated his desires. Having it mean something was so thrilling.

Light pulled away. "Because you're afraid of this...I think," Light smiled, feeling the jovial victory, "you've made a miscalculation based on biased emotions."

"As if you're one to talk," L said, trying to stay as indifferent as possible and failing. His lip was curled ever so slightly, hardly noticeable unless one was staring strenuously at him. "You've been a bias on the subject since you decided to disturb my peace and rudely impose yourself upon me every day in the coffee shop."

"Well pardon me for buying you hundreds of dollars worth of desserts," Light retorted sarcastically, "next time I'll be sure to make sure not to do something so clearly generous."

"You always have to win, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Light said, "now open your mouth, jackass." And the next moment was tongue and lips and glorious exchanges of saliva. Breathing and light touches that sent shivers down both of their bodies. "It's just no fun if I don't."

* * *

"This one is dead?" the EMT asked, presiding over the tarp covered body. "Should I pronounce him?"

"Yeah, go for it."

It was an odd thing, to have people chatting over your corpse. Any human being would be horrified of the prospect of their death being taken so lightly. _Let's just throw some plastic over their mangled corpse and then have a light chat about pronouncing them dead! _But that was the truth about life, people cry over you at the funeral, maybe drop a tear or two at the burial but after that you're forgotten. People stop crying, people stop caring. And the scary truth of it all is that the loss of a life can desensitize a person entirely. So these EMT's that hung around the scene, loading the SUV's driver into the ambulance and tending to the wounded, hadn't really any sadness over death. They didn't care, were completely apathetic.

However their apathy was interrupted by a passerby on the street. He was pedaling a bike and donning a thick scarf despite the warm weather that had emerged. He also wore a part of black, thick-rimmed glasses and black gloves on his hands, which gripped the handles. His legs were propelling him forward, straight into the midst of a crime scene, a place of death, and a pivotal point for all plans leading up to this point. Smiling to himself, he dismounted his bicycle, propped it against a nearby street lamp, and stuck gloved hands in his pocket and began to whistle. A jovial smile was spread across his face as he made a beeline straight towards the heart of the area. The police were too busy crossing off sections of the street and marking bodies and examining things for the passerby to be noticed. So he lowered the volume of his whistle and continued along at a steady pace.

Now he was passing the totaled red SUV, and his smile widened. He looked as if he could kick up his heels and do a small jig. They were dead. Both of them! No tracks to cover, no unnecessary people to kill. It was perfect! Perfect!

That was, until he saw the ambulance doors close. "Hey! Hey!" he shouted, catching everyone's attention. For he had seen a body in there…not a tarp-covered one as he had expected, but one hooked up to monitors and machines. There had been a living, breathing human. And that was the last thing he needed. That meant he had to visit the hospital, which complicated things a bit. The driver he had hired to do the dirty work of running over the criminal that had killed Kiyomi Takada. The "Casanova Killer" as it were. Then after he reported back, the real Casanova Killer would take care of him, because you can't trust a soul to be quiet. You can only trust yourself. However something had gone wrong…he was still alive. And that meant the hospital, the intensive care unit, and a very hard time breaking in…

Wait a moment.

Misa Amane. Was she not in the intensive care unit? Was she not? She was sleeping right there, helpless and alone. That was the last loose end he had wanted to tie up, and with his hired driver going straight where she was, he could kill two birds with one stone. He could kill them both, but it would have to be a silent job. No room for fun or creativity. Just plain old, boring business.

His plan was set.

* * *

The car stopped and it took Light and L a moment to detangle their limbs, fix their hair, and adjust their attire. The last two were mainly done by Light, who wasn't used to being anything but pristinely put together. Once Watari had opened the door for them, they stepped out into the open, and once more were they way they had always been. Light hated L, L hated Light, and there was no affection or fondness between them. That was the guise they flew under, making sure that they were secret and safe. Both of them had no clue how to admit any kind of feelings (let alone homosexual feelings) towards the other. The physical acts were startlingly easy. The mental acts, not so much.

Light leaned forward, letting his silky voice glide over Ryuuzaki's shoulder as they made their way back into the hospital. "When can I see you?"

"I will determine that."

Light quirked a brow. No one had ever been so adamant on being the one to call. On being the one to 'determine' things…but then again, it wasn't a surprise. He was L, and most of the time was inconvenient for him. This…fling was on his terms, on his playing field. That made Light frown, but in the end he decided to sway. The physical connection between the two of them was unlike any other; however they both remained stubborn and immovable upon the emotional and mental connection. It was infuriating and imperfect, but it was something.

It was something.

* * *

Gelus fiddled absently with his Death Note, continuing to watch Misa Amane. He had been exuberated when he had first witnessed Misa sit upright in bed with a little help from the nurse. She was getting better, improving at a very rapid pace. Now she was fully conscious and aware, growing stronger by the day. Her frail body from a diet of liquid nutrition was beginning to fill out with the real food supplied by the hospital. She was once more becoming the lively, young, and famous Misa-Misa that she had once been.

If it wasn't for that nasty little lifespan floating over her head.

Gelus continued to fiddle with his Death Note. Her cause of death was undeterminable. If it was something medical, it was out of his hands. It was inevitable and undeniably heart-breaking. If it was something else…perhaps he could help stop it. The joy at that thought was boundless. He could bring back the Misa he loved and adored! He could, it was in his hands!

His jubilant thoughts were promptly interrupted by Ryuk, who was looming over the portal to the human world. "Ryuk?" Gelus asked his scratchy voice was dull despite the happiness he felt at the prospect of saving Misa Amane.

Ryuk did not reply. Instead he chuckled like a madman, the Death Note hanging in his hand. It swayed to and fro, hanging in the balance. And then, he tossed it like it was meaningless. It went tumbling down in the abyss inhabited by humans, spinning through the air and pirouetting as it traveled through worlds. Ryuk had finally let the Death Note go, watching like a game show contestant that was waiting to see where the spin of the wheel would land him. He had finally dropped it and now it was just a matter of fate where it landed. It finally fell down, out of the blue sky like a tiny black dot against an endless sea. Spinning down and down, reaching closer to the ground. Ryuk peered over, faintly interested. No one else but Gelus seemed to notice the turn of events. No one else cared that much about the affairs of the human world. They only seemed to care about death, gambling, and making foul jokes. Someone was going to pick up the Death Note, some poor unfortunate soul. It landed softly in an alleyway in a bustling city.

May heaven help whoever it was.

* * *


End file.
